"Yes, Sir," Danny replied.

"Make sure that you honour his name and replicate his deeds." With that, Ramsey stood and left the room to nervous faces.

Randall was pulling his way through the digital images on the laptop. He was fast getting to grips with the technology that Marion Ramsey's money had provided and he was only sorry that he hadn't managed to tap her for more before she'd fallen to the Crucifier.

The photographs on the screen were turning his stomach and he reached for the bottle of whisky on the nightstand by the hotel room bed. He had managed to largely stay away from the booze for the past few days as his story had been all the sustenance that he'd needed. But now he needed the steely shoulder of the bottle to lean on, to hold him up and keep him afloat.

The other bed in the twin room was currently covered in his research. During the day he kept the large box hidden in the wardrobe but at night he pulled all of his work out to review.

According to all of the official records, Arthur Durage had been the Crucifier serial killer. He had been shot and killed by Detective Inspector Karl Meyers in his own bas.e.m.e.nt. Durage had been a loner with no family to mourn his loss and no one to speak in his defence. The bas.e.m.e.nt had been full of indisputable evidence and Durage had been buried by a local charity up north in his home town, a charity that remained nameless so as to not hurt their fundraising.

Randall also knew from the journal that Meyers had kept - and from his old partner, Tom Holland - that Jane Parkes had been unofficially consulting on several cases with Meyers and that she had been with him on that night.

Lana Genovese had been saved as a child from Durage's bas.e.m.e.nt and she had been the first new victim. She had been followed by Donna Moss and now Marion Ramsey. According to a Globe source within the police, another murder of a guy at a picnic area that had been written up as a mugging gone wrong was currently stuck up on DI Danny Meyers' wall.

Randall had been unable to find any reason to link Alan Holmes' death to the Crucifier case, but if Danny Meyers was then he was going to listen.

He was letting his mind wander across the a.s.sembled information when a sound from outside caught his attention. The noise was soft, but as Randall slid from the bed onto his hands and knees he could clearly see a silhouette under the door. Someone was in the hallway outside and they didn't want to be heard.

Randall's mind started to panic as he suddenly found himself potentially within the pages of a story instead of writing it; it was not a place that he wanted to be. He thought back to Marion Ramsey's apartment and whether or not he'd actually been alone, apart from the bodies that was. The killer may well have been lurking and followed him back here.

He glanced down and saw that the time on his watch read 2.15am and knew that most of the hotel's guests would be sleeping and the staff were on a skeleton rota.

He grabbed the memory card from the laptop that held his information and images and slipped it into his pocket. The hotel was a large building but he was only on the first floor.

He crept to the window and eased up the pane, praying that it wouldn't make a sound. There was a metal fire escape outside that led down to the ground and he carefully stuck one leg outside. The door k.n.o.b behind him softly turned and all hope of a reasonable explanation fled from his mind.

He quickly exited through the window and started to clamber down the metallic staircase. His hand slipped on the cold handrail due to his sweaty palm and he fought to maintain his balance as his legs wobbled beneath him. He hurried downwards, no longer caring about the noise that he was making.

He reached the bottom of the staircase and was horrified to find that the steps didn't reach the ground. There was a drop of about 15 feet and a st.u.r.dy padlock had been inserted to stop the remaining staircase from falling into place. Presumably the hotel had installed the measure to stop guests from leaving without paying and had not yet been caught during a health and safety inspection.

Randall hoisted himself over the barrier and gripped onto the railing. There was a collection of bin bags beneath him as he dangled, and he could only hope that they contained something soft. With a deep breath, he dropped into the black night and braced himself for the impact; the bags were not soft.

His ankle buckled as he landed and a roar of pain shot up his leg. Something broke inside one of the refuge bags and speared him in the side. He dragged himself to his feet and started to limp along the alleyway. There was little light, save for the dim glow from a few windows. The back alley was where the surrounding buildings all took deliveries and left their trash for collection. There were tall metal industrial bins which stank of rotting food and Randall used the containers to lean on as he hobbled towards the street and the occasional flash of a car's lights as people pa.s.sed.

His progress was slow but he could see hope up ahead. As long as he could reach a more public setting then he would be safe.

He was no more than 10 feet from the street when strong hands suddenly reached out and grasped his shoulders in a painful clamp. The light at the end of the alleyway started to grow further away again as he was dragged backwards into the dark. He tried to kick out but his shattered ankle refused to function and he could feel blood seeping from his side.

He was waiting for the sharp cut of the blade to fall when the shadow fell upon him. Powerful hands reached down, but they were not holding a knife. Instead, they reached roughly into his pockets until they found the memory card secured within.

"Mr Zerneck, so nice to meet you," a man said, stepping out of the shadows. "I believe that you knew my daughter."

Randall looked up to see Alfonso Ramsey standing before him. There was a large, brutish-looking man that still held onto his collar. The hands let go and the thug walked over to his boss and handed him the memory stick.

"I'm afraid that we will no longer be requiring your services at The Globe," Ramsey said officially.

"I don't need your paper to write a story, Mr Ramsey," Randall grunted from the floor.

"No, no ... you don't; but you do need your hands," Ramsey smiled and nodded to his accomplice.

The man stepped forward and, without warning, stamped down on Randall's left hand, breaking a couple of fingers instantly. He let out a stifled scream, keen not to show his pain but falling some way short. He rolled onto his side, clutching his wounded hand to his chest.

"This is going to be handled strictly in-house, Mr Zerneck," Ramsey mused aloud as he strutted over with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. "I won't bore you with the details, son, as quite frankly they're none of your d.a.m.n business. Suffice to say that if I catch you working on this investigation then your hand won't be the only thing that gets broken."

Randall could only sit and watch as the media mogul wandered away with his bodyguard in tow. As the filthy water soaked through his trousers, his hand throbbed monstrously, competing with his ankle for his full attention.

CHAPTER NINE.

STRONGER.

Jane waited patiently at the rear door of the building. She wore a comically large overcoat and wide-brimmed hat. Both were boiling her alive in the summer heat, but they did afford her a disguise of sorts. Her features were obscured because the front of the building was swarming with reporters. Danny had told her that Alfonso Ramsey had promised to shut down his own media's attention on his daughter's murder, but word had soon spread about her death. Details were sketchy amongst the other news outlets and they had no idea as yet that Marion Ramsey had been butchered by the Crucifier, but the fact that she was dead was still news.

The fire door opened and Danny ushered her quickly inside.

"We alone?" she asked in a whisper.

"Yes; don't worry, it's just you and me here."

She followed as he led her up the back stairs towards the penthouse apartment.

"How much does one of these places cost?" she couldn't help but ask.

"A lot more than I'll ever see in my lifetime, I can tell you that," he shrugged.

"What's the official police stance on all this?"

"You mean as far as her old man is concerned?"

Jane nodded as they climbed the steep stairs.

"Officially, the police service stands no interference of any kind in any investigation. In reality, Alfonso Ramsey had more juice and power than I ever thought possible. Chalmers is a snake who only ever cares about his own career prospects. But Barrett is a commander; he's the guy usually pulling the strings and Ramsey has even got him running for cover. Ramsey gave us a week to find a suspect before he goes to work."

"Do you believe him? That he'll keep out of it for now?"

Danny considered the question. "No. I don't think so. The impression that I got is firstly, that he's one scary dude, and secondly, that he doesn't care much about Marion Ramsey; he only cares that one of his possessions got damaged and he has to be seen making someone pay."

"He sounds like some kind of James Bond villain."

"To be honest that sounds about right," Danny said, stopping outside of Marion's door. "Look ... if you want to back off, I wouldn't blame you. If this guy can make senior police officers c.r.a.p in their pants then I'd hate to think what he could to you."

Jane thought about the drive over here and she thought about her crowded backseat with four spirits crammed in. "I'm in it now, Danny, for better or worse; there's no turning back until this is done."

He stepped aside and allowed her into the plush apartment. There was a strong chemical smell in the air that must have come from the cleaning, but it still couldn't quite mask the aroma of death. The main reason that she'd wanted to see the crime scene first-hand was to try and understand why she hadn't witnessed Marion Ramsey's murder. She would have wondered if the killing had been a copycat crime of some nature, but Marion was currently following her around with the other three victims.

"So what do we do?" Danny asked. "Light some candles, burn some incense?"

Jane withered him with a harsh look until she realised that he wasn't taking the p.i.s.s. "Just a little quiet," she answered honestly as she took her mother's brooch in her hand and ran her thumb over the surface.

The lounge was large and full of expensive - but cold - tastes, as though the owner had little sense of themselves and more how they should appear to the world around them. Jane couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Marion, however much the woman would hate the sentiment.

Jane walked slowly over to the spot where Marion had been found chained to the walls with her arms stretched out on either side in a crucified pose. The long blinds were drawn all the way across the back wall, plunging the room into darkness. A sudden thought of inspiration struck her and she carefully pulled a corner of the covering aside. She could see immediately that the whole wall was sparkling gla.s.s. "This is why he didn't show me this one," she thought aloud.

"I'm sorry?" Danny asked.

"The window wall." She pointed. "I would have seen his reflection in the gla.s.s."

"He could have worn a mask?"

"No, not him; he wanted her to see him, to see all of him."

"So you do know something about him."

"Not enough," Jane admitted. "Not nearly enough."

"You still can't get a fix on him?"

"Not yet, but I'm getting closer. Right now I feel like an amateur boxer stepping in the ring with the heavyweight champ and swinging wildly, but those old reflexes are coming back, Danny. It's slow work but I've never been involved with anyone who had my gift and was able to use it against me in such a way. He's able to force visions into my head and only show me what he wants to."

"Why? Why you? Is it just because you share the same... ability, or is it something more personal?"

"Now that is a good question, Detective."

"It seems like all we've got here are questions, Jane; it's about time that we got some b.l.o.o.d.y answers," Danny growled.

"Well all right then," Jane sighed. "Let's take a look."

She hadn't wanted to replay Marion's death. She had been grateful that the killer had at least spared her that experience but Danny was right - it was time to start pushing back.

She stood in the centre of the room and let her mind empty. She shook the tension from her shoulders and relaxed her body one inch at a time until she was in tune with both worlds. Marion's presence was close by now and she could feel the woman's rage. That anger was useless to her and tended to blind more than illuminate, but the woman's essence was strong and Jane used that fuel.

The world faded away as the swinging scythe cut through time and s.p.a.ce until she stood at the threshold of the Shadow World where death lived.

The last act of the gruesome play and the first that she had to endure was Jacob Yeller being ushered in through the front door to his doom. Jane could tell that this had not been in the killer's plan and for the first time she sensed a little hesitation and apprehension in the man. Yeller's death was mercifully quick as he was led into the lounge to see Marion's dying body on the ground. His throat was slit from behind and his body was dragged to the bathroom, discarded as meaningless.

Jane steeled herself as Marion was laid bare, stripped of clothing and life. She felt the woman's screams and bucking pain as the blade cut deeply into her flesh, the carving mark of the Crucifier.

The drawn blinds covered the window wall as she'd feared and the killer was obscured from her. Normally, Jane was able to thrust herself into the scene and find something to identify the killer; it had been her way when helping Danny's father. But now this man seemed to know every trick that she had in her locker and was blocking her at every turn.

She stepped around the butchering, trying to ignore the sound of wet thuds as the killer started to undo his work as time ran backwards. She tried to concentrate on the room, to look for any reflective surfaces, to catch a scent of anything identifiable, to hear a voice, an accent, anything, but there was nothing.

Marion Ramsey was sucked down from her chains as the carnage ran in reverse. Her face folded and knitted back together, thankfully, as her clothes returned and her body became whole again. Jane watched as the formidable woman fought for her life, running through the apartment - even chasing the killer at one point, and Jane admired her even more. Eventually, the scene was finished and she was left with the sight of Marion staring down at a collection of photo frames with melancholy in her eyes.

The play was done and Jane headed for the exit when the scene slowly morphed into another. This time she was watching the outside of the same building from a hidden vantage point. There were several press men and women standing watch outside as she moved through the undergrowth on the other side of the street. She could see a car pulling up, a large 4x4 that looked oddly familiar, and then she saw herself climb out and wait by the rear entrance.

This was earlier, this was just now, she mused. Somehow, her self-inflicted vision had crossed streams with the killer's. He had been watching the apartment building when she'd turned up less than 10 minutes ago.

She backed out as slowly as she could manage so as to not alert the man to her presence in his head. She stepped back across the threshold to find Danny waiting for her. "He's here," she whispered, in case the killer could sense her thoughts. "Outside. He watched me arrive."

Danny moved faster than she thought possible and he was out the door before she could stop him. She bolted after him and struggled to keep up as he leapt down the stairs three at a time. He burst out through the door onto the street and stood looking frantically around in all directions.

She caught up to him by the kerb, panting with the effort. It was only when she reached his side that a car engine roared into life somewhere across the street and then Danny was running for his car with his keys out.

"Get out of here!" he roared as she ran alongside him.

"Not a chance!" she yelled back as they reached his car.

The automated locking system opened all doors at the same time, allowing her to jump into the pa.s.senger seat, ignoring his furious stare. "Let's go, let's go!"

He peeled away from the kerb, swinging the car around and ignoring the horn blares of the traffic coming in the opposite direction as it swerved to avoid them.

"Left!" Jane shouted, pointing to a side street as she could still feel the killer's scent on the air. It was faint, but as long as they stayed close, she could follow.

Danny screamed around the corner in an expert slide. "Where?" he yelled.

"Right, up ahead," Jane answered as she struggled to fix her seatbelt into its housing while gripping the handle above the door.

The streets were residential and not built for speed. Panicked faces on either side stared open-mouthed as the two cars flew by. Speed b.u.mps in the road, built to slow down drivers, bounced them in the air as they took them too fast.

They rounded the right-hand turn and for the first time Jane caught sight of the car that they were chasing. It was the same silver rental that been following her before, the photographer's car. "The silver Toyota," she pointed and Danny nodded.

The street opened up into a commercial district with wider roads but more vehicles. Jane held her breath as they swerved in and out of the traffic. Large delivery lorries mingled with smaller cars and buses. They followed the silver car and darted into an empty bus lane that ran along the outside lane of the road to avoid the stalled vehicles at a set of traffic lights.

An elderly shopper belied his years as he managed to jump back out of the way, angrily waving his walking stick in the air as the Toyota mounted the pavement. Jane was almost certain that the car had swerved to try and hit the old man.

Danny swung back out into the centre of the road as more people rushed to the aid of the old man and blocked their path. Vehicles seemed to be coming at them in all directions and the Toyota made a break for it, caring little for the safety of pedestrians as he continued to drive along the pavement.

Danny skidded sideways as they took another turn and the car threatened to tip over; the only thing that stopped them was when they crashed into a row of parked cars, sending sparks from crushed metal up in the air. Danny righted the car and up ahead Jane could see the Toyota increasing its speed as the road opened up to meet the dual-carriageway that headed out of town.

The luck of the Devil himself seemed to riding co-pilot in the Toyota as the car shot through the junction, miraculously missing every car coming in the opposite direction at top speed.

"Get him, get him," Jane snarled as Danny stamped on the accelerator.

They flew past the stop sign and Jane's hands flew to her face as a huge articulated lorry slammed on its brakes and started to twist towards them from the left. The sun was suddenly blocked out by the huge truck as it loomed over them. The sound of screaming tyres and burning rubber filled the air before the collision.

Danny's car was no match for the lorry and it crumpled beneath the impact. Jane heard gla.s.s shattering and showering her face in sharp shards before her head hit the windscreen and the world went black.