but had not wanted to be caught doing so by any of the television people, and was fully aware of the risk of being caught by a roving camera. Haynes had been dispatched, all three cards in his pocket, to wait for Jericho back at his hotel. Sergeant Light had seen them talking, and Jericho was aware of the slight disappointment in her face when he had told her that he and Haynes had work to do after the show. She'd covered it, moved on quickly, back to business.
The clock ticked. The audience began to settle as the announcement came over of the imminent opening of proceedings, and members of the floor crew waved their hands for everyone to be quiet. Jericho glanced along the line to look at his fellow judges. Washington was straightening his shoulders, flexing his arms; the Sugababe was taking deep breaths to quell her fake panic, while waving her hands in her face; the tough TV copper was looking mean, staring silently into space.
The audience had gone quiet; an expectant hush fell over the large studio. Seventeen seconds to go. The host bounded happily onto stage, waving to the crowd, and immediately they burst into huge and thunderous applause. He smiled, the floor manager shook his head and looked away.
Seven seconds.
'Chief Inspector?'
Having turned away, Jericho looked back round at Washington, who gave him a thumbs up. Jericho nodded back with disinterest.
'Don't mind if we bring up the subject of your wife?' said Washington. 'It'll make great TV.'
The show began.
*
Durrant turned the car into the small driveway. He hadn't liked seeing the girl's face on the front of a newspaper; was glad that he hadn't seen her name. It had reminded him of how he was being used, which was something he didn't want to think about.
He walked quickly into the house, locked the front door behind him. Crossed the small living room in five paces, into the back room.
She hadn't heard the car but had been aware of the vibrations. She had been surprised that he'd left when he had, but had been in no state to understand why, her mind unable to analyse nuance in the brutal acts of her kidnapper. Now, however, her body tightened at the thought of him coming back. She presumed she was being held for ransom and so, although she was terrified of what he might do to her, her mind was on rape and brutality, not on the possibility that he would murder her.
She caught sight of his face as he closed the door behind him. A cry caught in her throat. Durrant strode quickly to her side and did not hesitate. He did not like having someone in his house who was going to be messing with his head. And he knew it was not yet time to get her out of the house. There was only one option, and if it precluded his original plan of torture and pain, then that was how it would have to be.
He smacked her across the side of the head with a blow she did not see coming. Although he did not entirely knock her out with the first hit she felt nothing as Durrant laid into her, venting fury and madness, as his hatred of mankind came exploding to the surface.
She was dead in under thirty seconds. Durrant kept hitting the corpse for another fifteen minutes.
*
The audience were in their usual state of ferment, goading and cajoling and cheering and hissing, the pantomime of Saturday evening TV. The three judges played their part, played to the audience; the TV copper talking about police work as if he'd ever actually done any of it, and as if every day was like standing on the front line at Paschendale clutching a broomstick and a note from your mum asking the Germans if they wouldn't mind going home; the ex-Sugababe, sympathetic and concerned, occasionally moved to tears; Washington, sneering and harsh, the pantomime villain, ridiculing at every turn.
Jericho sat detached. The TV copper was unimpressed with Jericho's very presence, feeling that it undermined his own special place as the hard man of the piece. Even so, every now and again he felt the need to reach out to
The clock ticked. The audience began to settle as the announcement came over of the imminent opening of proceedings, and members of the floor crew waved their hands for everyone to be quiet. Jericho glanced along the line to look at his fellow judges. Washington was straightening his shoulders, flexing his arms; the Sugababe was taking deep breaths to quell her fake panic, while waving her hands in her face; the tough TV copper was looking mean, staring silently into space.
The audience had gone quiet; an expectant hush fell over the large studio. Seventeen seconds to go. The host bounded happily onto stage, waving to the crowd, and immediately they burst into huge and thunderous applause. He smiled, the floor manager shook his head and looked away.
Seven seconds.
'Chief Inspector?'
Having turned away, Jericho looked back round at Washington, who gave him a thumbs up. Jericho nodded back with disinterest.
'Don't mind if we bring up the subject of your wife?' said Washington. 'It'll make great TV.'
The show began.
*
Durrant turned the car into the small driveway. He hadn't liked seeing the girl's face on the front of a newspaper; was glad that he hadn't seen her name. It had reminded him of how he was being used, which was something he didn't want to think about.
He walked quickly into the house, locked the front door behind him. Crossed the small living room in five paces, into the back room.
She hadn't heard the car but had been aware of the vibrations. She had been surprised that he'd left when he had, but had been in no state to understand why, her mind unable to analyse nuance in the brutal acts of her kidnapper. Now, however, her body tightened at the thought of him coming back. She presumed she was being held for ransom and so, although she was terrified of what he might do to her, her mind was on rape and brutality, not on the possibility that he would murder her.
She caught sight of his face as he closed the door behind him. A cry caught in her throat. Durrant strode quickly to her side and did not hesitate. He did not like having someone in his house who was going to be messing with his head. And he knew it was not yet time to get her out of the house. There was only one option, and if it precluded his original plan of torture and pain, then that was how it would have to be.
He smacked her across the side of the head with a blow she did not see coming. Although he did not entirely knock her out with the first hit she felt nothing as Durrant laid into her, venting fury and madness, as his hatred of mankind came exploding to the surface.
She was dead in under thirty seconds. Durrant kept hitting the corpse for another fifteen minutes.
*
The audience were in their usual state of ferment, goading and cajoling and cheering and hissing, the pantomime of Saturday evening TV. The three judges played their part, played to the audience; the TV copper talking about police work as if he'd ever actually done any of it, and as if every day was like standing on the front line at Paschendale clutching a broomstick and a note from your mum asking the Germans if they wouldn't mind going home; the ex-Sugababe, sympathetic and concerned, occasionally moved to tears; Washington, sneering and harsh, the pantomime villain, ridiculing at every turn.
Jericho sat detached. The TV copper was unimpressed with Jericho's very presence, feeling that it undermined his own special place as the hard man of the piece. Even so, every now and again he felt the need to reach out to
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