The bloody fools. They’d done exactly as he’d predicted they would. In a way, he’d also hoped they wouldn’t. The chase was really rather boring when the chasers were so inept.
What was he meant to do? Hand it to them on a plate? The thought did appeal to him. He certainly wasn’t willing to be caught by doing something stupid like walking past a CCTV camera undisguised or being recognised by somebody. No, they’d have to use their brains for once; not rely on science and technology to do the work for them. That’s all the Whitechapel police had had to work with, and it had still eluded them.
If there was to be any hope for the future of public safety and human development, he was going to have to see some sign of progress very soon. After all, it was over a hundred and twenty years on from the original investigation and it seemed that nothing much had changed.
The rush of adrenaline between the third and fourth had been immense, but that was only because he’d stepped up the game and practically led them to him. He knew the way they thought, the way they reacted. That wasn’t going to make him stop taking advantage of that, though. That was all part of the game. That was all part of using their brains to get one step ahead of him. This was a battle of wills.
Their next move would be interesting. It would tell him a lot, whatever they chose to do. They’d probably keep fairly quiet for a while. You’d want to, wouldn’t you, if you’d just failed to stop someone killing two women, having known in advance that he was going to do it at that time and in that place. It’s not something you’d shout from the rooftops about.
When the ninth of November started to creep up on them, though, he knew they’d start to panic. They’d need to step up the effort, bring in more experts and ultimately go public to do all they could to prevent the fifth and final killing. He credited them with having already worked out that he was aiming for the canonical five. If they had half an ounce of sense they’d’ve worked out the rest of the plan, too. They’d have realised that he’d then slip back under his cover of darkness and they’d never stand a chance of catching him.
He hated to do it, but it gave him a perverse sense of pleasure and self importance. He slipped on his latex gloves, removed the writing pad from its protective pouch and started to write.