Page 17 of The Serial Killer’s Sister (The Serial Killer’s Daughter #3)
A secret’s a secret – my word is forever;
I will tell no one about your cruel endeavour.
MAY
Two years ago
The tongue slipped between his fingers, and it took a few attempts to hold it still long enough for him to make the first cut.
The knife was sharp, but nevertheless it took some hacking to sever it.
There wasn’t a lot of blood – she’d been dead for half an hour – but he’d come prepared and had ensured there was plenty of plastic sheeting underneath her.
He hadn’t wanted to chance splattering the area with her blood because the focus had to be on the final, staged scene.
He had learned from the first woman that it was easier to kill close to where the staging area was to prevent having to move the body too far.
This time, he’d only had to drag the dead weight across the hall to the next bedroom, where he’d erected a kids’ tepee tent he’d bought specially for the occasion.
It was in the bigger of the two rooms, to give himself space to manoeuvre.
She was smaller than the first woman, making the process so far much simpler. He rolled her off the bloody plastic sheet and wiped her down, then pulled her by her arms. She almost glided over the floor.
‘Note to self,’ he muttered. ‘Rooms with no carpet are better.’
His breath was steady; no huffing and puffing like before as he finished dragging her towards the tent.
He set her to rest at its door and, taking a step back, he looked to the tepee entrance and then at the woman, assessing.
With a plan in mind, he turned the body so the head was closest to the tent.
Then he backed himself into it, grabbed her arms again, and hauled her inside.
Posing her would be more difficult than the last. He sat her up, bent her legs so they were crossed, and moved away from her.
The top half of her body slumped over. He repositioned it, but the same thing happened.
‘Stupid, stupid bitch.’ He climbed out, took some deep breaths, shrugged and rolled his neck to loosen himself up, calm down.
Then an idea came to him, and he ran downstairs.
He gathered what he needed and returned to the tent.
He jammed the wooden handle of the broom down the back of her jeans and used the tape to secure it along her spine and around her middle.
Now she remained upright. Smiling, he repositioned her clothes, then put one arm in her lap and the other in front of her as though it were reaching for something.
Content with the pose, he retrieved the severed tongue from the other room.
It looked like one of those joke shop props popular at Halloween, and for a moment he was transported back to Finley Hall, the memory of past Halloweens spent there like a dark shadow in his mind.
He placed the now-cool tongue between two pieces of bread then popped it onto the plate, which he positioned beside the woman’s hand.
‘A secret’s a secret – my word is forever. I will tell no one about your cruel endeavour.’
Only he intended to do just that.
Setting a triangle of Dairylea cheese beside it, he smiled.
Just his final touch – his signature item – to add now.
He supposed the fact he was posing the bodies, and with the current day’s newspaper nearby so that the date he’d committed the murder was clear, could be classed as his signature, but he needed to be sure.
It required the extra ‘wow’ factor. Something that would be meaningful and specific to her .
Adrenaline surged through his veins as he did it, his breathing coming fast. As before, he moved back to observe his scene from afar – to see how others would see it.
He reckoned it might take a while for the police to link this and the first murder.
Being in different counties would slow things, and apart from the victims living alone – which was crucial for what he needed to carry out – they didn’t share similar physical attributes.
Usually, serial killers selected targets based on physical or personal characteristics – they had an ‘ideal’. His choices were more complex.
Detectives would conclude it was the same perpetrator once the different police forces shared information and realised there was a calling card.
This would signal to the police that they were dealing with a possible serial killer.
After the next one, there’d be no denying it.
It’s not that he wanted to be caught – although he craved the notoriety, maybe, and the knowledge that he was the one to instil fear and gain revenge.
The main thing was that he needed the murders to be linked so that she knew what was coming.
Ultimately, he had one goal. Each murder would take him a step closer to her – and to uncovering the truth.
Some promises should be broken.
And some liars should never prosper.