If she’d followed his timeline of kills correctly, his next strike would be within the next forty-eight hours. And when he cancelled their planned evening together, blaming a rushed editorial deadline, she knew exactly where he was going and arrived there before him.
Once inside the property, she’d watched in horror as he revealed his true nature, a ruthless, efficient psychopath gearing up for the kill. She’d waited, buried in the shadows inside the girl’s home, as he made his way into position and placed his bag by his feet, removed the cheese wire and then a billiard ball, which he’d thrown at the wall to gain Number Thirty’s attention. Standing behind Christopher with the taser gun in her hand, she could smell the adrenaline flowing through him and it made her nauseous.
Now with the crime scene cleaned up, Amy searched Christopher’s pockets. All they contained were two phones – his regular mobile and a burner he’d used to check Number Thirty’s location. Neither contained any clue of their owner’s identity but she took them anyway.
Amy stood in front of Christopher and took a deep breath. Then with all her strength she dragged him and his chair, inch by inch, through the kitchen, towards the rear door that Christopher had broken through, and out into a courtyard. She went back inside and took a duvet from the spare room and covered Christopher in it fromhead to toe. She dialled 999 from the girl’s landline, asked for the police and whispered ‘help me’ when connected with an operator. Then she discarded the phone on the kitchen worktop and assumed the police would arrive within the hour and find the girl.
Outside, she removed two litre bottles of white spirit she’d brought with her in her own kill kit and poured them over Christopher’s shrouded frame until the duvet absorbed the liquid. Then she stepped away, lit a match and threw it at him. She turned her back and walked away as Christopher caught light – she had no desire to witness the flesh melt from the bones of the man she had loved.
Given what you’ve just heard about those fake Matches, was he really the one or were you just in love with the idea of finding your Match? she asked herself suddenly.Think about it, surely to God someone like you who wants to do good couldn’t have been Matched with a man like that? Your results must have been hacked. You just got caught in the moment.
Amy nodded and decided it was the only logical explanation, even though deep down she wasn’t sure. The thought of choosing to love a man who turned out to be a serial killer was just bad judgment, and far better than having her DNA Matched to him. It was the lesser of two evils and, in time, she might just about live with it.
As Amy left a painted stencil mark outside Number Thirty’s home, she knew it could be months before Christopher’s body was positively identified. She drove back to his home and let herself in with his keys and planned to clean the place from top to bottom over the following week to remove as much of her DNA as possible. Then she would leave his car with the keys in the ignition in a South London crime hotspot, certain it wouldn’t remain there for long.
There were very few ways Christopher and Amy could be linked once the police discovered who he was. He’dalways paid cash so there’d be no credit card trail of where they might have eaten or visited together. His computers were heavily password controlled but she would destroy them with a hammer anyway and dump them. And as they hadn’t met each other’s friends, families or colleagues, there’d be nothing tying them together as a couple – with the exception of their Match Your DNA link. However, no proof would ever be found that they’d taken it a step further. Even their few introductory text conversations were to Christopher’s anonymous pay-as-you-go phones, which she would also smash to pieces.
In the months to come, Amy’s colleagues would never discover why the last person to die in the baffling, unexplained serial killer case was male, why he’d been chosen and his body set ablaze. It would be an added twist to the story and she was sure Christopher would approve of her self-preservation skills.
Christopher had reached his target, onlyhe’dbeen the thirtieth kill. He’d also kept the anonymity he so desired and the only thing his story lacked was the nickname he’d been affronted not to have been given. Suddenly, it came to Amy.
When I go to work tomorrow, I’m going to suggest they call you The Saint Christopher killer, she said to herself, imagining him watching her and picturing his smile.Thirty kills and a name … you got your wish in the end, didn’t you?
Chapter 102
NICK
The town was more grand and picturesque than Nick had given it credit for after having looked it up on Google Street View.
The climate was balmy and almost Mediterranean and he wore his cargo shorts, a T-shirt and flip-flops as he’d wandered around the well-kept streets that surrounded the town’s Spanish mission-style architecture. He now sat on a wooden bus stop bench, taking in the hot December morning. The rows of shops he faced were tidy and organised, and there appeared to be enough there to satisfy each of the town’s 73,000 inhabitants.
Every now and again, Dylan made a cheery gurgling noise from his stroller, both amused and excited by the plastic ring of colourful farm animals attached to his wrist, which rattled every time he waved his hand. He had coped with the twenty-three-hour flight remarkably well for a four-month-old, with only the occasional outburst of tears during some particularly troublesome turbulence.
After checking into their B&B, Nick had been too animated to give in to sleep, so they made their first excursion to the park to explore the winter gardens and to feed the ducks. Then they stopped off for a snack ina café before making their way to their Russell Street destination. Ahead of them and three doors to the right was the building that held the man they had flown 12,000 miles to see.
The street in Hastings, New Zealand, was becoming busier as the lunchtime trade picked up and the staff left their work to grab a snack or meet with friends in cafés. Nick bided his time, trying to remain calm, but really all he wanted to do was run through the shop door to announce his arrival.
Even moments before he opened the door, Nick could feelhispresence, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies had, en masse, risen up from the pit of his stomach and taken flight inside his body. When he appeared, Nick’s breath was well and truly taken away.
Alex stood still for a moment, not seeing him, and Nick noted that his wavy hair was shorter than when he’d last seen him, almost nine months earlier. He’d shaved off his stubble too, revealing a clean-cut, more angular face. Suddenly, Alex looked flustered, as if he knew something was out of kilter but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
Nick knew what he was feeling because he felt it too.
Then, as their eyes locked, Alex took a step backwards in shock. The pushchair especially must have been quite the surprise, he thought.
‘Hello, stranger,’ Nick began, making his way towards him.
Alex was too stunned to reply.
‘Alex, meet Dylan. Dylan, meet Alex.’ Alex moved his disbelieving eyes from Nick’s towards Dylan. He took in the boy’s darker skin and looked at Nick, bewildered.
‘It’s a very, very long story,’ Nick continued, ‘and I have to warn you now, he and I only come as a package. But if you’ll have us, we’re here for keeps.’
Alex tried to cover his mouth with his hands but it was too late to hide his huge, white smile or to stop the tears from falling down his face. And he gave Nick the firmest, most longed-for hug he’d ever received, which Nick took as a yes.
Chapter 103
ELLIE
