“I know, Dill,” Jack said, miserably, “but when?”
“You’re still worried that he’ll strike again at any moment?” Dillon asked, studying his friend carefully.
“I’m absolutely convinced he will,” Jack confessed.
Dillon sighed. “All we can do is spread the word for everyone to be extra vigilant and try and get the uniform patrols in Whitechapel increased over the weekend,” he said.
Jack gave a mirthless laugh. “I’ve already tried doing that. Apparently, Bonfire Night weekend is one of the busiest times of the year for the emergency services and they expect to be run ragged dealing with all the calls that come in.”
“You know, having all those extra people out and about, enjoying themselves at firework displays and bonfire parties, means the streets are going to be buzzing tonight. That might just work to our advantage,” Dillon said, trying to sound positive.
“It might,” Jack agreed, sounding incredibly morose. “Or it might work to his.”
◆◆◆
It was nearly midnight, everywhere was shrouded in dense mist from where all the fireworks had been set off earlier, and it was raining again. Not that The Disciple was complaining. The rain was his friend. Statistically speaking, it was a known fact that far less crime was committed during periods of inclement weather than at any other time. It was also a known fact that even the most conscientious police officers were reluctant to get out of their nice cosy patrol cars without an extremely good reason when it was pissing down.
Spookily, despite the weather forecast predicting a cool, dry evening, the downpour had begun within minutes of him starting tonight’s hunt. It was, he knew, yet another sign of his growing power.
Now that all the fireworks had finally stopped, the streets seemed eerily quiet, especially for for a Friday night. That wasn’t going to be a problem; there was always action to be found somewhere in Whitechapel if you knew where to look, and The Disciple knew exactly where to look.
He picked up his fourth victim in Middlesex Street. Her name turned out to be Sonia, and she was an anorexic mixed-race girl in her late teens with a face full of angry pimples. She seemed awkward and embarrassed when he broached the subject of sex, giving him the impression that she hadn’t been on the game for very long. As soon as a price was agreed he patted the passenger seat impatiently, indicating that she should join him inside the van. She climbed in, brushing water from the shoulders of her plastic jacket.
Tonight’s disguise consisted of a black-haired wig, worn under a flat cap, a stick-on goatee and a pair of circular glasses.
Given that he was the most wanted man in London, he wanted to get off the streets as soon as possible. With that in mind, he pulled away from the kerb the instant she closed her door.
“Where are we going?” Sonia demanded, pulling her seatbelt on. There was a note of apprehension in her voice, but he knew her anxiety stemmed from the fact that no money had changed hands yet as opposed to any fears she might have over her safety.
The rain was getting worse by the minute, and he increased the speed of the wipers to compensate, not that it made much difference.
“I know a quiet place not too far from here, where we won’t be disturbed by the police.” He did, too. Tracey Phillips had very considerately shown it to him on the night he had killed her.
“That’s all well and good, but you haven’t paid for my services yet.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he promised, “I’ll make sure you get your just reward.” He tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. The music in his head was becoming louder again, and he made a conscious attempt to dull it down so that he would be able to hear her reply.
“You’d better,” she warned him, “because I ain't performing till I’ve been paid.”
“I’m a Capricorn,” The Disciple lied. “What’s your star sign?”
She glanced sideways at him, the hint of a frown creasing her brow. Her face said: Are you for real?
The Disciple took a deep breath and repeated the question, making a huge effort to sound friendly.
There was an awkward silence, and he could tell from the vexed expression on her face that she was on the verge of having a strop. “I’m an Aires,” she eventually told him. “What’s it to you?”
The Disciple shrugged. “Just making conversation,” he said, trying to keep the mood jovial. He wasn’t sure that she had answered truthfully, and as the ritual would be rendered useless unless he consumed the organ that corresponded to her Zodiacal sign, he decided to ask her again as soon as they reached their destination. Only the next time he asked, there would be a knife at her throat, and she would be made painfully aware of the consequences of lying to him.
Sonia clearly wasn’t impressed with this feeble attempt at small talk. “Tell you what; you can talk to me all you want after you pay me. Till then…” She raised her right hand to her mouth, mimed zipping up her lips, and then crossed her arms defiantly.
My, you’re a feisty one, he thought. She had seemed so demure when he’d first spoken to her. Well, he mused, it just goes to show how deceiving looks can be, and I should know.
“Don’t worry,” he told her, using his most reassuring tone, “We’re nearly there, and I promise I’ll give you exactly what you deserve the moment we arrive.”
CHAPTER 27
Monday 8th November 1999
“Heads up, everyone. Here they come,” Evans warned as he entered the conference
