About the Book
Bright red. Like rose petals. Or rubies. Little red droplets.
Barney knows the killer will strike again soon. The victim will be another boy, just like him. He will drain the body of blood, and leave it on a Thames beach.
There will be no clues for detectives Dana Tulloch and Mark Joesbury to find.
There will be no warning about who will be next.
There will be no good reason for young policewoman Lacey Flint to become involved…
And no chance that she can stay away.
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Part Two
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Part Three
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by S. J. Bolton
Copyright
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For Hal, who peeps out at me through every child in this book; and for his mates, who gamely played along.
‘Do you not know that tonight, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway?’
Dracula, Bram Stoker
Prologue
‘THEY SAY IT’S like slicing through warm butter, when you cut into young flesh. ’
For a second, the counsellor was still. ‘And is it?’ she asked.
‘No, that’s complete rubbish. ’
‘So, what is it like?’
‘Well, granted, the first part’s easy. The parting of the skin, that first rush of blood.
The knife practically does it for you, as long as it’s sharp enough. But after that first cut you have to work pretty hard. ’
‘I imagine so. ’
‘The body’s fighting you, for one thing. From the moment you cut, it’s trying to heal itself. The blood starts to clot, the artery or vein or whatever it is you’ve opened is trying to close and the skin is producing that icky, yellowy stuff that eventually becomes a scab. It’s really not easy to go beyond that first cut. ’
‘It seems to be largely about the first cut for you, would that be fair to say?’
The patient nodded in agreement. ‘Definitely. By the time the knife touches skin, the noise in my head is close to unbearable – I feel like my skull’s about to blow apart. But then there’s that first drop of blood, and the next, and then it’s just streaming out. ’
The patient was leaning forward eagerly now, as though the act of confession, once begun, was unstoppable.
‘I’ll tell you what it’s like – it’s like that first heavy snowfall in winter, when suddenly everything’s beautiful and the world falls silent. Well, blood does exactly the same thing as snow. Suddenly, the pain means nothing, all that noise in my head has gone away. Somehow, with that first cut, I’ve gone to another place entirely. A place where, finally, there’s peace. ’
