The Handshaker by David Robinson Page A

excitement at the knowledge that he could help put the police ahead of the game for the first time, he fumbled through the morass of paper on his desk until he found the verse concerning Susan, which had arrived at the police station this morning as he received the Heidelberg note.
    Of ’em all shes gr8t drawn suds sea
    A tidy bint and such fukin gud fun
    Kilt her I’ve left her stone dead
    L8r I’ll show u I never miss
    His heart leapt. Oaklands! His own home!
    Gathering up the papers, jamming them into his briefcase, he dashed from the room, scurried along the corridor to the stairs, and hurtled down them taking them two at a time. He burst through reception, paused briefly at the counter to tell them he had an emergency, and then rushed out of the college, leaping into his car.
    Frantically, he fumbled the keys into the ignition and at the same time fished into his pocket for his mobile phone. He dropped the phone, gunned the engine and jamming the transmission into ‘drive’ leaned over into the passenger footwell to retrieve the phone as he tore away from the building.
    He barely paused at the main gate, and cut up a large van as he joined the homebound traffic. As he drove, one eye on the road, accelerating onto the motorway, he recalled Millie’s number on his mobile. She took an age to answer and he was already heading for the motorway by the time he got through.
    “Millie. It’s Croft. The Handshaker. He’s after Trish.”

13
     
    At the police station, having photocopied Croft’s article for distribution to the investigating team, Millie read through it a couple of times, then sat back, mulling over her thoughts.
    Her first impressions were that it was impossible, but the more she read, the more convinced she became of its reality. It had happened, and if a hypnotist back in the thirties had managed to abuse his skill to this extent, why not now, here, in Scarbeck, in the 21st century with its plethora of chemical substances to assist the criminal.
    Croft, she suspected, was right, but where did it take them?
    Millie, an I.T. graduate, knew the risk of relying too heavily on one person’s opinions. She liked Croft, despite his arrogance and barely concealed sexual attraction to her, but she could not blindly follow his lead based on an obscure case that was almost eighty years old and which had happened in another country, another world.
    Despite his scepticism and dislike of Croft, Shannon had already ordered the junior officers to chase up the hypnosis angle with the families, but what could she, Millie Matthews, do to speed things up, get this deranged individual locked up for the safety of every woman in the town?
    She logged onto the Internet with the intention of searching once more for references to the events in 1920s/30s Heidelberg, then changed her mind and promptly logged off again.
    It was almost six and time to call it a day. She was tired, hungry, in need of a shower, a little TV maybe, and a good night’s sleep.
    She cast a quick look over her shoulder and through the window.
    Night had settled and vicious rain still pounded the town. The rush hour was in full flow, a constant stream of headlights cutting through the evening gloom. She lived a mile or so out of town, and to avoid the hassle, she usually ate nearby, a pub meal or takeaway, allowing the traffic time to calm before she made the journey home. She would go to the pub now. Croft’s article had given her something to think about and by the time she returned tomorrow it would be with a fresh mind.
    She was gathering together her belongings when her mobile rang. An excitable Croft telling her that The Handshaker was after Trish Sinclair.
    “Calm down,” she urged. “Just calm down.”
    “Calm down?” he yelled. “Trish hasn’t rung me all day and she hasn’t been in work, and the note you received this morning told me that the next victim would be picked up at Oaklands. How the hell do you expect me to calm