He was in complete control. His weapons had opened many doors, allowing him to go wherever he chose – invited or not. He knew what he wanted and how to get it, though he had to admit he’d learned the hard way.
He’d left too many clues on the first tart he’d wasted, ended up captured within days. Twenty years on, every detail of his trial was etched on his brain like the tattoo on his head. That courtroom – hot and overcrowded – his fate resting in the hands of twelve strangers, none of whom dared meet his gaze. Each glance quickly whisked away when he looked at them, unfazed by the seriousness of his position, as exhibit after exhibit pointed an accusing finger in his direction.
The jury’s discomfort was laid bare for all to see. When shown photographs of his victim, battered to a pulp like the whore she was, one woman in the jury box was even moved to tears.
Silly tart . . .
Nobody had asked how he felt.
And what about the two of them? He had watched them, huddled together in the public gallery, pretending to give a shit, like the day they put him in care for no reason he could think of – lied to keep him there – and went through the motions of supporting him. They disgusted him.
But he’d be leaving his parents till last.
Just why they’d spent that day snivelling and holding hands, he couldn’t imagine. Her especially. She’d spent more time teaching Sunday school than taking care of him.
Fucking goody two-shoes.
She was only alive now because he’d decided not to kill her . . . yet. In any case, she was already dying of shame – the slow kind of living death people like her deserved. By the time he’d finished messing with her head, books would be written about his life, a film perhaps, with some A-list celebrity playing him, maybe even a sequel or a series on the box . . .
Sweet.
He could see it now – his name, their name – up in lights or plastered across every billboard in the country. She’d find that difficult to ignore. That’s why he felt so angry. Any profiler worth her salt should have given the filth a lead by now, flagged up his record, his obsession with the God squad.
What the fuck did they think they were doing?
Why hadn’t they joined up the dots?