Page 62 of First Blood

She reached for the paperwork. ‘Not sure how this is going to help us. We know how the man died.’

‘But we didn’t know every injury he’d sustained or how similar the MO was to our case.’

She looked over the single sheet of paper that was not the full report but contained the list and sites of injury, marked on a printed drawing of a male body.

Her gaze passed over all the information she already knew.

And then located the fact she didn’t already have.

Just like their victim, Lester Jackson had been bashed on the back of the head.

‘Note it on the board,’ she said, sighing heavily.

Everyone watched as Dawson did what she asked.

‘Despite the similarities, we have to hope that everyone else is right and we’re wrong and that these cases are not related to our own.’

‘And if they are?’ Bryant asked.

‘Then what we have on our hands is an escalating serial killer.’

Chapter Fifty-Four

Marianne waited for the last page to sputter out of the printer before opening the door.

‘Jay, send Carl in when he gets here,’ she called across the hall before retreating back inside.

She folded the page and closed the envelope on her desk.

It was barely 7.30a.m. and already she’d cleared her emails from the previous day, designed a new mailshot to send to her list of existing benefactors and written a Christmas newsletter to be circulated around all the shelters.

She knew people marvelled at her energy levels. Some of the staff called her The Tornado and it wasn’t a nickname she minded. They all knew that everything she did, everything, was born of passion and determination to ensure the safety of the women and children who passed through her doors.

Most of the women who came to her had been beaten to a shadow of their former selves either physically or psychologically. Others were victims of childhood sexual abuse and were still recovering from the trauma. Only last month she’d accepted a twenty-seven-year-old chartered accountant who had recovered memories of childhood abuse by her stepfather. Previously an astute, intelligent, balanced woman leading a charmed life she had suddenly found herself and her life falling apart around her. Others came because their children had been abused and they needed a place of safety.

She was proud of everything she’d achieved, the number of women she’d helped. The lives she had mended. She asked for nothing in return except their commitment to taking the tools they’d been given and moving forward with their lives.

There was nothing she wouldn’t do for the women who came into her care, she thought, as a short, single knock sounded on the door.

‘Come in, Carl,’ she called.

He stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.

She nodded towards the envelope on her desk. ‘I have another name for you.’

He followed her gaze. ‘Marianne, is it a good idea to carry on?’

She frowned. ‘You don’t believe in what we’re doing?’

He shrugged. ‘You know, with the police coming around. It won’t take them long to…’

‘It’ll be fine, Carl. I promise,’ she said, surprised at the pensive expression on his face. She had not given the detective inspector another thought once she’d left the building. ‘But we can’t stop now. We have to protect these women. We’ve come too far.’ She paused. ‘We’re in this together. You do understand that, don’t you?’

He hesitated and then nodded his agreement.

‘Good,’ she said, pushing the envelope towards him. ‘Everything you need is in there. You know what you have to do.’

Chapter Fifty-Five