The Rule Book by Rob Kitchin Read Free Book Online

thought. Beyond that you’ll just have to wait.’
     
     
    The man smiled to himself, turned the news off, and tightened the grey scarf around his neck. Laura’s death was headline news, the reporter breathlessly relaying the gory details of how she had been found and warning the public to be vigilant against a dangerous killer on the loose. They could be as vigilant as they wanted, he thought, it would make little difference; everything was already scripted.
    He tugged on a dark blue waterproof coat and headed for the door. He felt oddly calm; his emotions still contained; his perspective detached. He knew what he was about to do and how he was going to do it. He had no doubts. Taking the next life was simply a task to be completed, a means to an end. It was nothing personal, nothing to get worked up about. As far as he was concerned, killing a person was different to killing an insect in only one respect – nobody cared enough about the insect to try and take away the killer’s freedom for doing it.
    That was the challenge – to kill without being caught; to outwit all the forces and resources that would be thrown at the case. And that was the thrill as well; the fuel that fed the adrenaline high; that made him feel alive.
    He was confident he could meet the challenge, even if he wasn’t following all of his own rules. After all, he had written the book. He closed the front door and set off at a brisk pace.
     
     
    McEvoy leant against the cool bricks of the barracks and sipped piping hot coffee from a polystyrene cup. His mobile rang and he snatched it from his jacket pocket. ‘Barney?’
    ‘There’s a Schmidt in the graveyard,’ Plunkett said hurriedly. ‘Walter Schmidt. Died in 1941.’
    ‘And Fay Butler has confirmed that her father is German; the mother is from Mayo. They’re on their way over to identify the body, the poor bastards.’
    ‘If he hadn’t been abusing her in the first place, she probably wouldn’t be dead,’ Plunkett said bitterly.
    ‘True,’ McEvoy conceded, ‘but I bet her death’s still torn him apart,’ he said, imagining what it would be like to be told his daughter had prematurely joined his wife.
    ‘My heart bleeds for him,’ Plunkett muttered without sympathy. ‘I just hope he doesn’t take it out on the mother. If he was abusing his daughter, there’s a good chance the wife has experienced the same treatment.’
    ‘I’ll talk to Family Liaison,’ McEvoy offered, knowing that Plunkett was probably right. ‘If he so much as lifts a finger against her we’ll bring him in. About the cemetery, do you still think it’s a coincidence?’ he asked, changing the subject.
    ‘If it is, it’s a pretty big one. He kills a girl called Laura Schmidt and then leaves his calling cards where one is buried. Chances of that must be pretty small; miniscule even.’
    ‘Well, if it’s not a coincidence, then whoever killed her must have known her in advance and also known that she was coming out here,’ McEvoy reasoned, letting a thought unfold, ‘where there just happens to be a German cemetery with her namesake buried in it. Unless you organised the trip, the chances of Laura being anywhere near that cemetery are practically zero. Especially when this was the first time she’d been on anything like this.’
    ‘You think the killer might be one of the DHC organisers?’ Plunkett asked. ‘You said one of them did time.’
    ‘Yeah, Dermot Brady. Hit and run. Killed a mother and her young son. Now claims to be whiter than white.’
    ‘Well, he helped organise the trip. Maybe he talked her into coming?’ Plunkett hypothesised.
    ‘Possibly,’ McEvoy said cautiously, mentally starting to unpick his own speculation. ‘Finding a person with the same name as someone in the cemetery and getting them to come on an annual trip is a difficult ask though.’
    ‘What do you want me to do?’
    ‘Just note down Schmidt’s details and then head home. Tomorrow’s going to be another