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girls: 'Oh, come on, Tommy. You know it was him: '... as wel as the attempted murder of Alison Wil etts.' But it wasn't attempted murder, was it? The kil er was actual y attempting to do something else. Thorne didn't
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    know the word for it. They'd probably have to invent one if they ever caught him. He cleared his throat and ploughed on.
    'George Hammond, who discovered the body, has given us a vague description of a man seen removing the body from his car and dumping it at the scene. Six feet one or two, medium build. Dark hair possibly. Glasses maybe. The car is a blue or possibly a black saloon, no make or model as yet. The victim was abducted at some point on her journey from the pub to her home on Windsor Road, which is no more than half a mile away, sometime between eleven fifteen and eleven thirty. Nobody's reported seeing anything but somebody did. I'd like them found, please. Let's get a make on that car and a decent description...'
    Thorne paused. He could see one or two officers exchanging glances. It had taken him less than a minute to impart the essential information, the paltry scraps of fact that were supposed to shift the operation up a gear.

    Frank Keable stood up. 'I don't real y need to tel you, but the usual press blackout, please.' The media hadn't got hold of the kil ings, not as the work of one man at any rate. The fact that the murders hadn't been concentrated in one area and had been so wel disguised had made it hard for them. It had taken the police long enough to put it together themselves. Stil , Thorne was surprised: Backhand had been up and running for weeks now and they usual y had sources within most high-level operations. In time there would be a leak and then the usual buck-passing would begin. The tabloids would come up with a lurid nickname for the kil er, publicity-hungry politicians would bleat about law and order, and Keable would give him a speech about 'pressure being brought to bear'. But so far so good.
    70 MARK BILLINGHAM
    Keable nodded at Thorne. He was free to continue. 'Helen Doyle was eighteen years old...' He stopped and watched his col eagues nod with due disgust. He had not paused for effect.
    He was feeling the knot in his stomach tighten, slippery and undoable.
    Helen was not much older than Calvert's eldest. 'Unlike the other victims she was not attacked in her home. It's a fair bet he didn't do it on the street and the method of kil ing would suggest that he couldn't do it in a car. So where did he take her?' Thorne talked some more. The usual stuff. Obviously they were stil waiting on the results from the forensic team. These were the first real tests they'd been able to carry out and he was hopeful. They should al be hopeful. This might be the breakthrough. It was time to pul their fingers out. They were going to get him. Come on, lads...
    The house-to-house was al ocated. There was talk of a tNevision reconstruction. Then chairs were scraped back, sandwiches ordered, and Frank Keable was summoned to the office of the detective superintendent.
    'What's the point? He knows I'l have sod-al to tel him until this afternoon.'
    'Maybe he just wants to share a power breakfast with you. Mind you, you've already had yours.' Thorne pointed at the ketchup stain on Keable's shirt.
    'Bol ocks.' He spat on a finger and tried to rub out the bright red splodge.
    'He got it wrong again last night and he doesn't like it,' Thorne said.
    Keable looked up at him, stil rubbing, reaching into
    his pocket for a handkerchief.
    'The way he dumped the girl's body so quickly. He just
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    wanted shot of her, Frank. He thought he'd cracked it after Alison and when he botched it again I think it real y pissed him off. He's getting impatient. And he's getting arrogant. He took a big risk snatching this one off the street. These women, these girls, are just bodies to him, dead or alive. He's just carrying out a procedure on them and I think he blames them when he gets it