AUTHOR'S FOREWORD

Previously on Photo Finish: Matthew Moore pays a visit on the girls and begs them to believe he had nothing to do with the killings and the threats against Naomi. Emily gets a call from her Mum to tell her that Katie has regained consciousness. The whole Fitch family rush off to the hospital to be with Katie. Sweeney is surprised in front of the garden shed by a mystery assailant and strangled to death. The killer enters the house disguised as Sweeney, knocks Naomi unconscious and carries her off in a van.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: MANHUNTER

Maybe it was because he was feeling tired, cold and hungry and had lost a fraction of the intense concentration he had been at pains to maintain for the first few hours of his vigil. Or perhaps the sideways sleeting rain, lashing into his face and forcing him to turn his head away on occasions, was partly to blame for him not having spotted it until it was almost too late. Whatever the reason, Cook nearly missed altogether seeing some guy emerge from the side of the house and bundle what looked like a human body into the back of a van before closing the back doors and quickly getting into the driver's seat. He shook his head violently from side to side to get rid of the rain that was pouring down his face, rubbed his eyes and stared at the front of the Fitch house some thirty yards away on the diagonal. No, he wasn't mistaken. Someone was definitely driving away from the house in a big hurry after having thrown something or someone into the back of his van!

His heart almost missed several beats as his imagination started running wild at the various permutations available to explain what he had just witnessed, the worst of them and his best guess from what he had been able to make out from that distance away being that this was the killer and the thing he had just chucked into the back of the van was the dead (or nearly dead?) body of Naomi. H e didn't exactly have much time to react. He had maybe a few seconds to size up the situation, weigh up his options and make a decision what might prove to be the difference between life and death for Naomi or whoever it was lying, he guessed or rather hoped, unconscious in the back of the van.

In the time it took the van to surge forward out of the drive and swing left out onto the road in the other direction from him, Cook had worked out that running after it on foot in a desperate attempt to catch up with it and somehow make it stop would be utterly pointless and doomed to failure. He needed to pursue the van in his own four wheels. Sadly he had no fast car conveniently parked nearby into which he could leap, through the open window Dukes of Hazard-style if necessary, start up the engine and take off in hot pursuit like they do in all good cops and robbers car chases. This particular unorthodox urban hero on this of all occasions had arrived for his private stake-out mission on foot. He hadn't even thought to nick himself a car on the way over as he most likely would have done in earlier times.

Clearly he needed to get hold of some transport immediately and whilst the police car parked outside the Fitch house was an obvious candidate, he didn't have the time, or the inclination if truth be told, to go in the house and ask for or hunt for the keys to it. Neither did he have enough time to break into the car and start it up in his own self-taught inimitable style. He needed some wheels in the next few seconds and as luck would have it, as all these jumbled thoughts came flooding into his mind like someone's life flashing before them as they lay on the point of death, a car suddenly came bombing along the road from over his shoulder as he stood motionless at the side of the road watching the van pull away from him.

He didn't hesitate to question the rights and wrongs of what he was about to do, he just went ahead and did it and to hell with the consequences – they would take care of themselves later. He ran out into the middle of the road, turned to face the oncoming car fearlessly and stood waving his arms frantically like some kind of demented traffic cop on speed. Much to his relief the driver chose to slam on the brakes and come to a screeching halt only a few inches or so in front of him, instead of ploughing right into him, sending him flying and then calmly carrying on its merry way. Cook knew this wasn't the time or the place for social niceties, for politely and respectfully asking the driver if he wouldn't mind awfully letting a complete hothead of a stranger borrow his car in order to chase a psychotic killer and teenage girl abductor God knows how far across town.

Seeing the van already tearing away up the road out of the corner of his eye, Cook ran round to the driver's side and motioned to the driver to wind his window down so he could talk to him. The driver, despite being nervous and more than a little angry at having been forced to pull off such a dramatic manoeuvre, could see that something was afoot and wound his window down promptly to give Cook a right mouthful of abuse. Cook seized his window of opportunity to grab hold of the poor unfortunate guy by the throat thereby temporarily immobilising him, before pushing down the button, opening the door and unceremoniously dragging the driver out of the car. Before he could think of defending himself or putting up any sort of a protest, Cook punched him to the ground and ignored the poor fellow's understandable whimpers and squeals of pain and shock as he got into the car. He slammed the door shut and pressed his foot hard down on the accelerator. The car lurched forward, initially rather uncertainly before settling into a steady pace and screeching off ahead as Cook strained his eyes in desperation to pick out the van which was by now already a considerable distance away.

When Cathy came downstairs to find both Naomi and Sweeney mysteriously absent without trace, her suspicions were immediately aroused and she reached for the handgun in her inside pocket. Her heart began to thump furiously as she went cautiously into each room in turn, gun held out steadily at arm's length in front of her, to confirm that the pair of them were nowhere to be seen. Where the fuck were they, she thought? She'd only been talking to Naomi upstairs a minute or two ago, for Christ sake! And where the hell was Sweeney? She didn't like this one little bit.

A horrible premonition of gloom and doom began to envelop her as she completed her sweep of the downstairs rooms. Not a sign of life to be found in any of them. Maybe they had both gone outside for a smoke, even in this foul and disgusting weather. She opened the back door which she noticed wasn't locked and went outside, gun still held out menacingly by her outstretched arms and called their names. It had now become pitch black and she had real difficulty seeing anything clearly at first until her eyes had got used to the rain-soaked darkness that surrounded her. Still there was no sign of them and she went round to the front of the house hoping against hope that they might both be sheltering on the door step, having a fag together. No such luck.

She was seriously worried now and she hurried back inside to shout their names up the stairs, in case they had both gone back up before she had finished in the bathroom but there was no reply. It definitely seemed like they had disappeared without any good reason and she was forced to conclude that something had gone seriously wrong. She phoned in to DS Blunt and updated the sergeant on the situation. She could sense the grave concern in her governor's voice as she quizzed Cathy on the details of her alarming report. 'Check everywhere, now!' said Blunt. 'I'll tell Straw what's happened. Let's make absolutely certain that something serious has gone wrong first before we start overreacting. After all, Naomi may have taken off for some reason or other and Sweeney might have gone after her to bring her back.'

Cathy said she would turn the whole house and garden upside down and get back to Blunt if she found anything which is exactly what the DC proceeded to do. She even looked inside every cupboard and wardrobe, silently praying that she would find the pair of them together hidden under the stairs or in some other equally improbable spot, caught in the act of some totally embarrassing and inexplicable romantic clinch. As nauseating an image as that might have been in her eyes it was at least preferable to any of the other appalling alternatives that were looming large in her head

Having looked in every conceivable nook and cranny and exhausted all the options, she turned to the outside and putting on a coat she ventured out into the back garden, doing a sweep of the whole area which turned up nothing of any interest. There now remained only one other possibility. It was with much trepidation and bated breath that she approached the shed and, after taking a deep breath, flung the door open to look inside. What she saw caused her to let out an involuntary scream of shock and horror. The body of DC Sweeney lay lifeless in the middle of the floor and she could see immediately that he was dead. She bent down to briefly examine him but it served only to confirm her initial reaction. The thin piece of wire which his attacker had obviously used to strangle him had been left hanging around his neck as if the killer felt no need to conceal his weapon of destruction but preferred to leave behind for all to see and wonder at his breathtaking audacity and ruthlessness.

Tears of sadness and despair started to trickle down Cathy's cheeks and she made no attempt to stem their flow as they mingled cosily with the rainwater that had already begun to soak her face. She wasn't crying because she counted Sweeney as a personal friend as well as a work colleague. She didn't particularly like him that much if she was being brutally honest – she had always dismissed him as the type of insensitive, laddish, socially inept and charmless type of heterosexual guy she had always steered well clear of outside of her work environment.

She was crying more because his death was a symbol of their failure to do their job of protecting Naomi from the threat of the serial killer. Sweeney's grisly death and Naomi's disappearance could only mean one thing – the killer had succeeded in abducting the young girl from right under their noses and was quite possibly contemplating killing her as well at that very moment. Her own position in the force was undoubtedly going to be subjected to the most rigorous scrutiny when the case was concluded but right then she was scarcely thinking about herself. The hideous images that were preying on her mind were the unimaginable terror that Naomi had to be feeling wherever she was and, worse even than that, the reaction of Emily to hearing the news that the girlfriend whom she adored had been snatched by the killer. She couldn't bear the realisation that she had let down Emily whom she had grown so fond of over the last few weeks and the thought of the young girl going to pieces on hearing the news made her sick to the stomach and prompted a fresh outbreak of tears which took her some time to control before she made her call to DS Blunt.

DS Blunt rang off after listening to Cathy and her long solemn face confirmed DI Straw's worst fears. 'Cathy's found Sweeney, gov,' she said in a low shaky voice which betrayed her shock and anxiety, despite her years of experience in this toughest of jobs. 'In the garden shed, strangled to death. There's no sign of Naomi.'

Straw closed his eyes for a second and visibly paled. He always felt emotionally shattered whenever he lost one of his team in the course of duty and the fact that on this occasion it had been DC Sweeney, whom he had always regarded as a bit of an irritating, hot-headed twat, was neither here nor there. He was one of their irritating, hot-headed twats and it was a tragic loss that the whole force would feel very deeply. But beyond his understandable sorrow at the demise of Sweeney lay his sudden runaway fears for Naomi Campbell. God alone knew what horrific fate lay in store for that poor young girl whom the serial killer had been targeting for weeks and whose safety it had been their responsibility to oversee. They had to assume that he had killed Sweeney, snatched Naomi and taken off with her. If she wasn't already lying dead somewhere, then she surely soon would be unless…

'We've got to try to question Katie Fitch right now. Our only hope of saving Naomi Campbell is getting a name or a description out of her before that bastard decides what to do with her. We need to speak to the doctor. Don't tell Emily anything just yet!'

They hurried off in search of the doctor who had been treating Katie and found him outside the private room where Katie was lying in bed, surrounded by the whole Fitch family. He was observing the family discreetly, anxious to ensure his patient's recovery wasn't being jeopardised in any way, however unintentional, by her getting too traumatised from seeing her family gathered around her bedside.

'Doc, we need to speak to Katie right now. It's a matter of life and death. I know she hasn't long regained consciousness but we have to try to get her to give us something to go on. An innocent girl's life is at stake here.'

Straw didn't hold back in laying it on the line to the doctor as he knew the medic would only be concerned about the welfare of his patient, as he should be, but Straw had other concerns beyond Katie's recovery. She was going to be well looked after by the doctor and the rest of his staff whereas Naomi's safety lay solely in his hands and that could be largely determined by what information he and Blunt could extract from her right then.

'Okay,' said the doctor reluctantly, hearing the urgency in Straw's voice and noting the seriousness of his expression. 'But no more than a couple of minutes, do you hear me? I'll be watching and if I think she's getting stressed out from your questions then I won't hesitate to step in and throw you out. Understood?'

The two coppers nodded silently. 'You start off with the questions, Blunt,' whispered Straw before they entered the room. 'She might be less frightened by another woman talking to her to begin with.' They went into the room and all the heads of the Fitch family turned towards them as they entered. DS Blunt smiled at Emily who returned the sergeant's greeting in kind, if a little nervously. She had expected that the police would want to try to talk to Katie at some stage or other but she was somewhat taken aback that it was so soon after she had woken up. She was about to ask them why they needed to talk to her right now but Blunt anticipated that Emily might be on the point of asking them something they would rather not answer right then and got in first to ward her off.

'How is she?' she asked of no-one in particular and came over to the side of the bed where James and Rob were sitting next to one another.

'The doctor thinks she's doing okay considering everything she's been through,' said

Jenna without taking her eyes off her daughter who was lying quite still, her eyes briefly flickering open from time to time without ever suggesting any kind of permanent consciousness. Katie had the usual array of tubing and drips and other such medical accoutrements poking out of her orifices or connected up to her bed which always manages to convey far more panic and alarm than is probably justifiable. Most of this is precautionary and can often lead a visitor to think the patient is still at death's door which might be far from the case.

'Has she said anything yet?' Blunt asked, trying to make it sound a casual enquiry and not to show too much anxiety or urgency which might otherwise arouse Emily's suspicions before they had had a chance to speak to Katie.

'Not really,' said Emily, looking up at Blunt who had moved in closer to Katie alongside the two boys who seemed tongue-tied, indeed mesmerised by the distressing sight of their tough as old boots sister and daughter seemingly looking so fragile and vulnerable for once. 'A few grunts, that's all. But I think she can hear us.'

'I really need to try to speak to her just for a minute or so,' said DS Blunt softly. 'I promise I won't upset her or stress her out. But it's vital I try to find out if she can give us any details about the man who tried to attack her before she got run over. Is that all right?' Blunt didn't exactly wait for the family's agreement before she got hold of a chair and moved it forward so she could sit as close to Katie as possible without actually barging the two boys out of the way.

'Katie. Can you hear me? This is DS Blunt from the police. I know you really just want to rest right now but I need to ask you a couple of urgent questions and then I'll leave you alone with your family. Is that okay?'

Katie' eyes flickered open and seemed to be trying to focus on the sergeant who had leaned forward and had gently taken the young girl's left hand and clasped in her two hands. 'Can you hear me, Katie? If you can, squeeze my hand.'

Blunt felt Katie's fingers stir beneath hers and soon she felt a faint squeeze to signal that she could hear Blunt okay. 'Good girl, Katie. Now, listen to me carefully. I'm going to ask you a few simple questions. If the answer is yes, squeeze my hand once. If the answer is no, squeeze it twice. Do you understand?'

A squeeze of Blunt's hand indicated that a proper line of communication had been established between the two of them and the serious and vital questioning could now begin.

'Katie, did you see the man who tried to attack you before you got run over?' She paused and looked closely at Katie to see if there was any reaction. Katie's eyes remained closed but after a few seconds Blunt felt another squeeze from Katie's hand.

'Yes. Good girl. Did you recognise him? Had you met him before?'

Another pause followed by another squeeze of the hand followed immediately by a second squeeze. 'Yes to both questions. Good, Katie. You're doing really well.'

She could hear the sharp intakes of breath all around her but continued to concentrate on the young girl in the bed and ignored the undoubted tension and anxiety being felt by everyone else in the room, DI Straw included. She knew how important it was to plough on and get as much information as possible whilst Katie was still capable of giving it to her. Who could tell when exhaustion would finally overcome the poor girl and send her back into blessed sleep.

'Do you know his name, Katie?' She held her breath, praying that she would feel yet another squeeze, just the one again and waited anxiously for Katie to respond. After what seemed like an age she felt Katie's hand press hers once, then agonisingly a second time. 'No. You don't know his name. Okay, Katie.' She hesitated a little, pondering in her mind what question to ask next when she felt an unprompted squeeze of her hand heavier than any of the previous ones that Katie had given. 'What is it, Katie? What are you trying to tell me? You told me you don't know his name but do you know something else about him?'

Again a firm squeeze of her hand which caused Blunt to look round at Straw who came over towards the bed and stood next to Blunt, a dozen thoughts flying through his head at the rate of knots. What could she be trying to tell them? If she didn't know his name, did she know something about him that would reveal his identity to them? What could that be? How could they get her to tell them? This could be crucial. But the next few questions would have to be the right ones. The girl might not be able to keep this up much longer before she drifted out of consciousness again.

'Where are you, you fucking bastard!' Cook punched the dashboard with real venom as he took yet another turning and drove along the bumpy track in a frantic desperate attempt to find the van which he had lost track of some two minutes ago. His hand started to ache and throb, so hard had he hit the dashboard but he scarcely even bothered to look at it. He had been able to keep the van just about in sight all the way to the edge of town but once it had veered off onto a twisting and turning country lane, poorly lit and with the rain still slanting across his windscreen, making it hellishly difficult to see further than thirty yards in front of him, he had lost sight of it completely. For all he knew the driver, who must have finally cottoned on that he was being followed by some unidentified maniac in a light-coloured saloon car, could have doubled back on himself and headed back for the city.

And yet something told Cook that this psycho had to be around here somewhere. Some sixth sense, some undeniable hunter's instinct in him convinced him that the van, its driver and the body in the back which he was sure was that of Naomi, were not far away. It was just a matter of exploring every country road in the area, one by one for however long it took, and he would track him down eventually. He wasn't going to give up, even it meant driving around in the countryside all night, in the pouring rain with a broken hand and worse still a badly battered and bruised ego.

Cook didn't give up that easily. Jack the Lad never cut out on a friend in need unless it was a strategic retreat with the sole purpose of living to fight another day. But on this occasion Cook knew that he couldn't afford to back away from this particular battle and return later, stronger, wiser and more prepared to win the ultimate war. If he turned tail now, however well-intentioned and strategically sensible, he would almost certainly never get a second chance to save the day for his friend Naomi. He had to carry on driving, no matter how desperate and forlorn his task appeared. He had no choice, not if he wanted to keep his self-respect intact. Better to have failed gloriously than to be seen meekly giving up trying to win a seemingly hopeless case.

The rain beating down on the windscreen seemed to match his ever deepening mood – unforgiving, relentless and sombre. It was a blessing in disguise that there were hardly any other cars on the road now for he was driving like a man possessed, not bothering to look behind him or around corners or even whenever he came to a junction. He just went wherever his instincts told him to go, chasing down every single car headlamp that he caught sight of in the distance and hunting them down until he had caught up and ascertained that it wasn't the van he was searching for. He realised only too well that he was acting like a headless chicken but what else could he do? He didn't see anyone else running to Naomi's rescue. Her life depended upon him entirely and it was up to him alone to save the day. All he had to do was believe in himself and self-confidence was a quality that he had never been in short supply of. Until now, that is.

The driver of the van looked in his rear view mirror for about the tenth time in the last five minutes and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. At last he was certain he had shaken off that persistent bastard whom he could have sworn had been on his trail ever since he had driven away from the house. He hadn't recognised the car but he knew it couldn't have been the one that the cops had been driving the girls around in so he was at a loss as to who the hell it might have been following him all over town.

Of course it might just have been his overactive imagination. God knows he had been living right on the edge of his nerves that afternoon but as it turned out everything had gone swimmingly. Even killing that dickhead of a copper had been surprisingly easy and snatching Naomi from inside the house had been a piece of piss as well. He hadn't even needed to get rid of the other copper though God knows where she was at the time he entered the house – some crack protection team they had proved to be! It was like taking candy from a baby and he couldn't suppress a smile at the memory of how easy it had been.

He glanced round to check that Naomi was still unconscious which she was. Part of him wished that he hadn't had to hit her quite so hard but he couldn't afford for her to let out any kind of warning to the lady copper so he had been left with no option but to knock her out. .He comforted himself with the knowledge that she would soon be waking up in a nice, warm, comfortable bed with an almighty headache and a bump the size of an egg at the back of her head. And his undivided attention, he sniggered.

Within a few minutes he had turned the van into the driveway and pulled up outside the front door, swinging the van round so that it was side on to the front of the house. Not that there was much chance of anyone seeing him take Naomi out from the back of the van and carry her into the house but he wasn't going to take any risks even at this late stage. The moment he had dreaming of was almost upon him and he didn't want to cock the whole thing up by being careless and complacent. He still had to stick to his plan right up until the last moment.

He got out of the van, walked round to the back, opened the doors and carefully picked up a still unconscious yet breathing Naomi, putting her over his shoulder as he had done earlier on before carrying her over to the front door, opening it and going through. Once inside he made straight for the stairs leading down to the cellar but had barely gone more than a couple of steps down when a man's weak, muffled voice cried out his name from somewhere behind him.

'Yes, Dad, it's only me. I'll be along to see you in a minute. I've just got to go to the toilet. I've been bursting for a piss for the last five minutes. Hang on a sec, will you?'

He continued down the stairs until he reached the bottom whereupon he staggered confidently down a long, dark corridor which led to a door at the end of it which he kicked open and went inside. He carried Naomi over to a large bed and carefully laid her down on it, pausing only to gently stroke her long platinum blonde hair back from her face so he could have a long, lingering look at her. He was breathing more heavily now than he had been when carrying her over his shoulder and he had to clench his fists to stop himself from going any further. PATIENCE! There would be time enough for all that later.

He reached inside one of the drawers in the bedside table and pulled out a set of handcuffs and proceeded to handcuff each of her hands to the big shiny brass bedstead above her head. Finally he took out some black masking tape from the same drawer, tore off a strip with his teeth and applied it firmly over her mouth. Satisfied that she wouldn't be running away or screaming for help any time soon, he reluctantly left the room, closing the door behind him and went back upstairs to say hello to his stupid old fart of a father.

'Come on, Katie, you can do it!' encouraged DS Blunt as she leant further forward to within an inch or two of Katie's mouth. She had been trying to say something just a moment ago and Blunt had sensed the need for her to bend over and try to make out the words she was clearly desperate to communicate. 'Tell me again.'

Katie's eyes were wide open but she was so weak and exhausted that hardly a sound came out even though Blunt could see her lips moving as she attempted to make an intelligible sound. Blunt studied her lips intently as the poor girl tried yet again to say the word but it was all in vain. As hard as she tried Katie simply didn't have enough strength and energy to make a meaningful sound. All that came out was a sort of gasp or wheeze which made no sense at all.

'It looked like she was trying to say something beginning with M,' Blunt said, turning towards DI Straw who had also been watching the young girl's face closely and he gave a half nod in agreement. It looked like that to him also.

'Does the man's name begin with an M, Katie?' Is it Matthew?'

Katie squeezed DS Blunt's hand twice in succession but the sergeant could tell that the squeezes were getting weaker by the minute compared to when they first began this unconventional means of communication. 'No, it isn't Matthew,' she deduced, much to Straw's disappointment who still had Matthew Moore at the top of his list of suspects.

'Michael, perhaps? Is it Michael, Katie? What about Mark? Does she know anyone beginning with the letter M?' Straw turned towards Emily and the rest of the Fitch family who all shook their heads blankly.

Katie made another superhuman effort to say the word that was clearly on her lips but still nothing would come out save for the same stifled gasp, the same half-formed murmur of an aspirated sound. 'It could be a B,' said Emily, recognising the importance to the police of what Katie was trying to say but still very uneasy as to why they seemed hell-bent on pulling out all the stops now. Why couldn't they let her rest a while and try again later? She couldn't see why it was so vital they got her to speak right now …..unless….?

'I thought it might have been a P,' suggested Rob.

'Yeah, that's it! Maybe she was just trying to tell us all to piss off and leave her alone, said James, turning a mischievous face towards his Dad who couldn't help chuckling at his son's quip despite the seriousness of the situation.

'Look, I think this has gone on long enough,' said Jenna who had been watching the interrogation with considerable distaste and rising concern for her daughter's recovery and had now decided to put her foot down. 'Can you all please leave her alone now? She's still very weak and needs to be left alone to rest. You'll have to do what you can with what she's told you. I won't stand for this any more. My daughter's still critically ill! Please go now!'

Straw and Blunt got up from Katie's bedside with the greatest of reluctance but at least remembered to thank the family for allowing them to try to speak to Katie before leaving the family to it in the private room. It had been along shot but they had given it a go. There wasn't much to go on, admittedly, but maybe they could follow up all the people she knew beginning with the letters B, M or P. But they were running out of time fast. Who knew whether it was a matter of hours or perhaps just minutes?