She already knew a great deal about Collins from the time they had spent working together and she had gathered a great deal of information since then, but she wanted to know much, much more. She wanted to know absolutely everything.

Two weeks earlier, long before Collins had had any suspicions about her, Matthews had applied for a birth certificate in Collins’s own name. The document had arrived in the post after a few days and had made fascinating reading.

Matthews made her way to the branch of Mail Boxes Etc. where her post was being forwarded.

There were several envelopes there but the one that caught her eye was thin and white and had no stamp. She picked it up with a huge smile on her face. She ripped it open and pulled out a cheque from Stacey Collins for twenty pounds. Collins had responded to the fake charity mailing that Matthews had set up, just as she knew she would. Once she found out all about her father being confined to a wheelchair during their last dinner together, she knew exactly how to pluck at the woman’s heartstrings. The cheque was a godsend. She now had Stacey’s bank details, and her signature. It was time to move on to the next phase of her operation.

She picked up the phone and dialled a number.

‘Hello, I just wanted to check the balance on my account.’

‘Certainly. What’s the account number?’

Matthews reeled it off from memory, followed by the branch sort code.

‘Okay,’ said the woman at the other end of the line, ‘and for security I just need your date of birth, your full name and your mother’s maiden name.’

‘Of course. My date of birth is 15 August 1972. My full name is Stacey Elizabeth Collins and my mother’s maiden name is Mason.’

Three more phone calls and thirty minutes on the internet later, Jessica Matthews had all the information on Detective Inspector Stacey Collins she would ever need. She already knew her home address but through a combination of knowing where to look, a few shady sources, social engineering and an awful lot of front she had managed to get the lot.

There was something extremely odd about watching Collins closely, intensely. There was a certain humour in knowing that Collins was working so hard to find someone who was so close to her the whole time.

She had not yet decided what she wanted to do. One thing was certain, however: the urge to kill was building up inside her once again. She knew only too well the depression that followed a murder. It was part of a cycle of extreme emotions that she had been through more times than she could count. There was only one way for her to feel completely normal again. She would have to find another victim, commit another murder.

23

On a bench in a quiet corner of Gladstone Park, Sophie Collins looked at the display on her mobile phone briefly before tucking it back into her bag.

‘Who is it?’ asked Jack.

‘Mum.’

‘Shouldn’t you take it, just in case she gets suspicious?’

‘I don’t want to talk to her.’

‘Are you sure?’

Sophie nodded. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to her.’

‘She is your mother, you know.’

‘That’s what everyone says. But that’s not the point. You can’t force your children to love you; you have to earn it. If you break the contract, if you don’t do a good-enough job, then you risk losing that love. And that’s what she’s doing. And the worst part is she doesn’t even seem to care.’

Sophie’s face was screwed up tightly as she fought against the tears that were welling up in the corners of her eyes. But it was a battle she was always going to lose and within a few seconds she had begun sobbing uncontrollably.

‘Come here.’

Jack held out his arms and Sophie melted into him. It felt good to be wrapped up in his strong embrace. Once more she felt protected, as if nothing bad could ever happen to her when Jack was around.

‘You know what I wish,’ she said softly, still sobbing, ‘I wish I could live with you. I wish I could stay with you all the time.’

‘So do I, love, so do I.’

From her vantage point in the bushes a few yards back from the bench, Jessica Matthews saw the embrace too. Only to her it looked like anything but the loving and caring embrace it actually was. The man with the young girl was no better than the other perverts she had spent so long tracking down.

When she peered into the soul of the man in the park, she saw nothing but evil. She saw nothing but the face of a man who deserved to die. His body language spoke volumes, as did his choice of location. His kind always wanted to get together in secluded areas of parks, away from prying eyes, away from anyone who might go for help.

His posture and position said that he was concerned that they might be being watched, that he was not relaxed, that he was constantly on the lookout for trouble. It would not help him. Matthews had learned her art from the best. She could walk across a tiled floor in stilettos and still not make a sound.

She knew exactly the sort of man who preyed on those kinds of emotions: the sort who could spot girls with that sort of vulnerability a mile off and home in on them like a missile; the sort who knew the right words and phrases to use to get them to open up; the sort who would seem to be everything the girl was looking for, only to vanish and then leave them hurt and embittered.

And she knew exactly what she had to do in order to stop it.

It took a few more minutes for the sobbing to subside before Jack Stanley lifted one of his arms in order to look at his watch.

‘Oh God, not yet, please not yet,’ moaned Sophie.

‘I’m sorry, love. If we don’t leave now she’s going to be suspicious. And that might mean the end of all these meetings. You don’t want that. I certainly don’t want that.’

Sophie was reluctant to let go. She held on to her father more tightly than ever for a few moments and then relaxed and leaned back. The pair smiled at each other, then Jack stood up, took her small hand in his and started walking towards the gate on the edge of the park.

‘So when am I going to see you again?’

‘Won’t be until next week now.’

‘Next week? How come?’

‘Oh come on, Sophie, don’t make me feel bad about it. For one thing I have to make a living. For another if we keep doing this too often someone is bound to spot us or get suspicious. I mean, suppose all those rumours flying around the school about you having an older boyfriend get back to your mum?’

‘They won’t. And even if they do she’d never believe it. She knows I’m not interested in boys.’

‘And long may it stay that way.’

‘Well, there is this one boy at school.’

‘Tell me his name so I can kill him.’

‘He’s really cool. He’s in a band.’

‘No way, absolutely no way. Just forget it. No musicians. Not now, not ever.’

‘What’s wrong with musicians?’

‘You’ll find out. And don’t think you’re going to be bringing anyone back to my house. Not unless you want them leaving in a wooden box.’

‘What about bringing back some of my girlfriends?’

‘Oh, I’d have no problem with that.’

‘I bet you wouldn’t, you dirty old man. That’s what you are you know, a dirty old man.’

Sophie smiled and snuggled into the hook of Jack’s shoulder as they reached the gate. He pulled her towards him and gave her a little squeeze before leaving her to open it. Then, all of a sudden, he made a quick movement and let out a cry of alarm.

‘Dad, what is it?’

As Sophie watched in horror, Jack collapsed to one knee, his hand clutching at his chest.

‘Oh my God, Dad, Dad, are you all right?’

Sophie was convinced Jack was having a heart attack or maybe a stroke. She had studied first aid at school and knew she had only minutes to react. She racked her brain to try to remember what she knew. She had to raise his legs, but nothing seemed to happen. There was nothing to put them on, no way of getting them above his chest.