February 2018
The life drains from Henry Derby’s body, and I ponder the fact I’m quite a good killer now. Feeling proud.
My earlier blundering attempts were quite different – especially Ronan. No wonder I got caught. Nobody can catch me now.
This is my fifth murder. Does that make me a serial killer? I straighten my back, and say the words out loud. Trying them on for size. Letting them hang in the air.
‘Serial killer.’
But am I a serial killer? Do I fit the mould? I’ve read up on it, you see. Serial killers normally have no apparent motive. I have a motive – always. They follow a characteristic. That’s not me – at least I don’t think it is. And I’m definitely not following a predictable pattern – am I? They rarely know their victims.
No. I’m in a category of my own – special.
Truth is, if they’d taken the time to connect the dots, they would have caught me by now. Fools.
I feel a surge of excitement run through me – I still have two more deaths to look forward to.
Not long now, and it will all be over.