Free Follow the Leader by Mel Sherratt Page A

deep into Suzi’s stomach. Patrick heard her gasp, watched her face contort with the shock and the pain. Before it completely took her breath away, he stabbed her again. Ah, the power he felt. It was almost orgasmic as he thrust the knife in again and again.
    Suzi coughed as blood filled her mouth, but now she couldn’t look at him.
    Pretty soon, she had no strength to cry out. Her head dropped.

    Patrick sat still while his breathing returned to normal, the sound of his heart beating in the still of the room the only thing he was aware of. He grabbed a handful of Suzi’s hair and pulled her head up. She was almost ugly close up, smoker’s lines around her mouth and dark circles under each eye, yellowing teeth, signs of her hair thinning from too much product. He bet her skin had suffered from all the crap she must have had to wear on it. It was a vicious circle – add more to look good but make the skin suffer so it reacted badly. And although her eyes were devoid of anything now, the light in them had probably gone out a long time ago. He wondered when she’d last had fun in her life, a real belly laugh with friends, when she wasn’t swanning around like a diva. He didn’t feel any sympathy for her.
    He let her head drop again and wiped the blade of the knife clean on her bra, red smears on virginal white. She’d broken a fingernail too, he noticed; boy, she wouldn’t like that, little Miss Perfect .
    When she was Sandra Seymour, she had been such a bitch to him at school. Always trying to get him alone and then lure him to where the other boys would be able to get him. Unseen, they’d kicked him, punched and tormented him. They didn’t care what they did as long as they weren’t caught. And then when he went home with bruises, he got more from his old man for not sticking up for himself.
    But Sandra Seymour, or Suzi Porter, whatever the press would call her, was a pawn in his game, useless to him now. Already he’d started to think about his next target, move on to the next stage of his plan.
    Patrick closed his eyes for a moment and remembered the first thrust of the knife. He couldn’t believe how good it had felt, how much pain had been released with every stab – his pain, her pain, their pain. There was blood all over his clothes, but he couldn’t do much about that. He’d worn black again in readiness. But he needed to wash his hands: it would take him minutes at the most.
    Checking his watch, he jumped from Suzi’s lap and went over to the sink. Two down: five to go. He wouldn’t be here long now. All he needed to do afterwards was slip out the back. Of course his fingerprints would be everywhere, but no one would catch him because he wasn’t in the system.
    They just wouldn’t know that yet.

Chapter Nine
    Rhian checked her watch for the umpteenth time before turning her attention back to the television. She listened carefully to the evening’s news as it kept everyone up to date with the ongoing investigation of the man who had been murdered over on the canal towpath two days ago. Rhian hadn’t known of Mickey Taylor until Joe had told her about him, but she certainly knew lots about him now. Reports of his murder had been on national news bulletins since Monday and were sprawled across the front page of The Sentinel again that night.
    The TV reporter panned around with his hand, saying that it was a popular spot for people to be found dead, but that most of the time it was usually the canal itself that caused the death as people drowned. No one had been murdered there until yesterday. A new low for Stoke-on-Trent, Rhian surmised, although she wanted to pull the reporter up on his stupid choice of words. A spot where people went to die should never be referred to as being popular, surely?
    The time on the screen said it was ten past eight. She sighed. Where the hell was Joe? He’d told her this morning that he hadn’t planned on being home late so she’d made an effort and prepared him a