Free The Unseen by James McKenna

anatomy. Parts were missing, taken by the killer or some animal, no-one knows. The same thing that happened with Sarah Finch and Helen Carter.”

    Sean lifted both hands from the embellished stone and the dark stains. “Poor girl. No one saw, no-one heard; here in the middle of London.” He indicated the council block, its top windows facing where they stood. The rest of the building was hidden by leaf-heavy branches.

    Victoria followed his gaze. “The place is being emptied for demolition. Top flats have been deserted a year. The window you see is the one Sam Sinclair supposedly jumped from. Unbearable grief as he looked down on the site of his daughter’s death. That’s what Creech put forward. I’ve checked the whole building. It’s the only place where you can see the crime scene. Lizzie had been put out by chloroform, gagged, tied then spread-eagled, her clothes cut off. If consciousness returned she would have been helpless. And if someone saw, they’re saying nothing.” A tight grimace appeared. “I have one factor though. One very definite, very positive identification. The DNA sperm sample from her killer matches that found at the Helen Carter crime scene.”

    “Why wasn’t that in your report?” he asked, trying to fathom what lay in her mind. “You telling me no comparative DNA tests were run through records?”

    She shook her head again. “Did you ever stop to think why I left the police, why I’m so angry? When Creech shut me down, the analysis results were still away. For reasons unknown, the system took eight weeks to complete tests. I assume because it would have proved Edward Mears’ innocence and Creech a fraud. They never got to the National Crime Facility and I only made the comparison once in MI5. Sarah Finch also matches. That shows interference or incompetence beyond belief.”

    “You rifled police files?” he asked. “Without authorisation?”

    A twist of smile appeared. “MI5 is part of the Secret Service, you know. And I enjoy that kind of thing.”

    “We have a serial killer.”

    “We have a number one juice-head, and I want him, Sean. That’s why I’m here, and I’ll do anything to get him. I want him for Lizzie, for Helen, for Sarah. I want to stop him before he kills again. And I want revenge for the disgust of all women who fear and wonder how this happens in our society.”

CHAPTER 6
    At 6 p.m. Mark parked his moped outside Cindy Bradshaw’s home which occupied the ground and basement floors of a converted Victorian house in Lambeth. Pretending to be confused, he went first to the basement entrance beneath the canopy of the building’s main steps and found it reasonably hidden from the pavement. The door was heavy and contained three deadlocks, one above the other. Mark tapped the frame. It was modern, relatively new and made of softwood. He thought Mr and Mrs Bradshaw sure seemed concerned no-one entered their neat little home; but Mr and Mrs Bradshaw had so weakened the doorframe by hollowing out lock-keeps, they made means of entry, just so neat.
     
    “So neat, Cindy baby,” he spoke aloud, and climbed back up steps to the front door. He whistled as he posted in their package from the Travelpath Agency then returned to his moped. He figured they would leave anytime after 0700 hours next day, which gave him plenty of time to pick the place over.

    When he burgled the Kennington flat, first rummaging produced only a credit card and a small amount of cash. In disgust he defecated on the bedroom floor, then looked on top of the wardrobe.
     
    “Can’t fool me,” he said, on discovering a passport plus driving licence with photo ID in the name of Jez Darley. He figured it his best find ever. The guy was medium height and compact like himself, round faced with not dissimilar features. Easy to copy. The credit card was six month old but in pristine condition, which probably meant its purpose was to hold a long-term debt at zero rate. A dangerous card to use