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prostitute at
the time of her death. Nonetheless, it appears that this is a line
of enquiry which Mildenheath Police are following up.”
    Before the
reporter could finish her report, Robert switched the TV off.
    “Robert? What's
that all about?”
    “Well, it's not
very nice is it? Having to hear about those people dying. No, I
suspect you have enough of it at work. Would you like a cup of
tea?”
    “No, I'd like
to know why you switched the TV off.”
    “I told you. I
didn't think you'd want to concentrate on work stuff outside of the
office. Besides, I don't like hearing about serial killings. It
gives me the creeps.”
    “You seemed
quite interested earlier.”
    “Well, just
taking a friendly interest, you know.”
    The silence
hung over the pair for a good two or three minutes before Robert,
seemingly continuing a train of thought out loud, broke the
deadlock.
    “I read a book
about something similar once. Turned out the father of the first
victim had been the killer and had got such a buzz out of it that
he just carried on killing women that reminded him of his daughter.
Well, I'm just saying that it's not a massive leap of faith to have
it work the other way round.”
    “It's unlikely
that Mr Bryant will have killed two random prostitutes and popped
off his daughter as a piece de resistance , don't you think?
I think you've been reading too many books.”
    “I see. Well,
yes, I do read quite a lot. Quite a varied range of interests, I'm
afraid, so I tend to buy a lot of books on various subjects.”
    Wendy scanned
the bookcase and her eyes rested on a section of eight or nine
books on knots.
    “You have a lot
of books about knots.”
    “Hmmm? Oh, yes.
I... I was in the boy scouts. Sort of a long-running interest of
mine. Never know when you might need to tie a proper knot.”
    “Yes, I suppose
there's a lot of call for them in accountancy practices in
Mildenheath.”
    “Well, not
exactly, no. But I am quite keen on camping. I tend to refer to
them for that.”
    “You're going
camping in February?”
    “No, why?”
    “You've got two
books on camping knots open on your coffee table. I just wondered
why you were referring to them in the middle of February.”
    “Oh, I just
wanted to check something. A friend asked me to find something out
about bowline knots for him.”
    “Oh right. I
see.”
    The words of
Steve Wing and Frank Vine echoed through Wendy's head.
    ...each of the
victims was found with a length of rope tied around their
necks...they weren’t your usual knots...Bowline knots... pretty
handy for nooses...
    A shiver ran
down Wendy's spine. Did she believe in coincidences? At this moment
she wasn't entirely sure. She made her excuses and left.
     
     
     
    CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
     
     
    There was no
easy way to approach the situation. Wendy was torn between her
loyalty to the intuition she knew she had – and which had never
failed her – and the overwhelming evidence before her.
    “DS Knight,
will you get to the sodding point? What does a saucy date with some
tart accountant have to do with my bloody murder
investigation?”
    “I think there
might be a link somewhere, guv.”
    “Well I'd be a
very happy bunny if you'd cut the crap and tell me what it is.”
    “This might
sound a bit weird.”
    “From what
you've told me so far, I've had more sensible dreams after seven
pints of lager and a chicken vindaloo.”
    “I wouldn't
bring it up if I didn't think it was important, guv. At first I
didn't really notice anything. It's only in retrospect that things
seem a little odd. Robert's been quite keen to find out more about
the case every time we've met. I thought it was just natural
curiosity at first but now I'm not so sure. He keeps asking about
details, as if he's trying to find out how much we know. Then last
night I was in his flat and I noticed he had a few books on knots
in his bookcase. He said he had been a member of the boy
scouts.”
    “Ah, well,
that's it then. Got him hook, line