Thanks to betas Emzi.x and RushholmeRuffian for their support

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Kuds and BBC. All I can say is I'm so sorry for what I'm doing to Alex, I do like her really!!

Chapter 6

Saturday 24 April, 1982

None of the team had been home for over twenty-four hours; instead they took turns napping for thirty minutes here and there at their desks, working round the clock reinvestigating every detail. Kindly Luigi, who Gene thoughtfully kept up-to-date, brought them food to the office. "You find the lovely Signorina, Mr Hunt, I know you will." Gene had merely nodded in surly agreement, not meeting the sensitive Italian's eyes.

Gene had listened intently to Alex's recordings, shivering at the sound of her voice. He marvelled at the level of her conviction, the detail she could determine about him, her fierce intelligence. The points of which he took particular note described an obsessive compulsion and it was here that Alex had felt sure they could solve this case. Gene strived to make himself think as Alex would do. What would she think of the empty flat? She would realise that the kidnapper had made a sudden decision to pounce as there was no evidence that he had tried to clean up after himself. Gene, connecting the dots, concluded that they needed to focus on all inconsistencies, however minor – and trawl through the files of the other murders and focus on all the similarities. They had been doing this for months, everyone was tired, but Gene spurred them on.

Gene, alone in his office, flinched as he looked again at the photographs of the dead girls, their injuries cruelly exposed in the close-up images, their identities reduced to no more than an anonymous brown file containing the evidence of their gruesome deaths. He read the notes again. Raped. Each one of them. He clenched his jaw. There was only two days left to find her. If they did find her alive, what kind of a state would she be in?

He clenched the kitchen surface, his knuckles turning white. They had to be the same. He was methodical, routine and detail was at the heart of this experience. The inevitability of the week's outcome gave him goose bumps; he was sweetly torturing himself by prolonging the gratification. Day five. He had only managed to hold out with the others until day three, their nudity and helplessness too overwhelming for him to resist. His desire was perfectly normal, he told himself. They were, after all, young, beautiful, desirable women. And they were his, for him to play with. Why shouldn't he fuck them, they were going to die anyway? He pushed himself up to his full height and turned his head back to the main room where she waited.

He had told her he didn't care, but as he makes his way down her body with his blade, his fingers itch as he reaches her abdomen, knowing the moment when he can let go of his restraint and move his arm high to slash in a single sweeping motion is coming, he feels himself held back. It is wrong, all wrong. There is something alive in there. Images of a film he had seen recently, Alien, flash through his mind. He feels sick, unable to quash the retching, saliva filling his mouth. He recalls the seminar in which they had discussed the Freudian connotations of the film, the horror of childbirth. He lowers his arm, and moves his blade along the side of her torso instead, finding untouched skin and makes small neat cuts, her body shaking at the contact and she pleads with him incoherently through the gag, again, to stop. He feels his heartbeat return to a steady rhythm as the red stains the white skin, the urge to break the perfection akin to the desire to walk in untouched snow: the snow ruined once the footsteps appear, the perpetrator searches for new snow to admire and destroy.

He looms over her, one leg either side of the chair, stripped naked. Through wide eyes Alex takes in the scars on his torso, noting he was not averse to inflicting the same treatment he was giving to her on himself. His musty sweat fills her nostrils. He is breathing heavily. She trembles. She knows what is coming. He runs his hands lightly across her face, along her neck, tracing a line down her body connecting the red lines with a greasy finger. He unties her gently from the chair. The top has long been discarded but she is still wearing the skirt. He lays her on the floor, her tied arms uncomfortable beneath her, and drags the skirt down to her ankles. He moves on top of her, his skin mere millimetres from her own. Alex clenches her eyes shut. Why won't he just get on with it? The wait for the inevitable to happen intensifies her fear. He seems to be taking her in; but in fact, she realises, he is trying to arouse himself. He needs to do this, it is part of the routine. But he doesn't want to.

She suddenly feels the consciousness of the bundle of independent cells inside her. It's the baby; he can't do it with the baby there. Her body tenses, every muscle taut, anticipating the pain and praying for mercy. He moves back up her body and brings his face level with hers, his eyes boring into hers. She can see in his expression he feels its presence too.

With a violent sudden movement, he lifts himself up and turns her roughly onto her front. "No!" she cries, fearing the worst. Holding her tied hands low on her back, he brings his other hand high above his shoulder and in the promised sweeping motion makes a long, deep slash between her shoulder blades, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as his frustration begins to dissipate. Alex opens her mouth to scream but only silent pain emanates.

It was Shaz who timidly made the break-through suggestion. She felt the burden of Alex's absence keenly but she also felt empowered and inspired by her and overcame her nervousness to put forward her idea, an idea she felt sure Alex would support: "Guv, what about a TV appeal?"

The team scoffed in unison. Shaz's face fell. Gene looked to the floor. He needed to do everything possible and he was fair, he gave credit where it was due: Shaz was right, and he realised how hard it would have been for her to make the suggestion after his last disastrous TV appearance.

"Yes. I think you're right, Granger." he said in his clipped tones, his fierce glare silencing the team. Ray looked around him incredulously.

"You got a problem, Raymondo?" Gene stared at him coldly.

"No, Guv, I… No, Guv." Ray responded sheepishly, crumbling under his Guv's unflinching gaze.

"Shaz, get on it. We're doing an appeal tonight." Gene instructed.

Gene felt sweat pouring off his face. He had done it. He had made it through the horrific ordeal: the lights bearing down on him, some tosser with ridiculously over-sized headphones directing him to look into this camera, then that one, confusing him. Gene had closed his eyes and focused on one thing: Alex and the three days they had left to find her alive. He had written the appeal himself. He took the time to think about the words he needed to use. He had listened several times to Alex's tape, and read her profile notes, and summarised the murderer's likely key characteristics. A photo of Alex was shown. Anyone experiencing anything out of the ordinary, a neighbour behaving suspiciously, a house left empty for an unusual amount of time should contact the station immediately. As the studio lights went up the irritating cameraman pulled off his earphones and gave Gene a discreet two thumbs up, and a small encouraging smile that reassured Gene that this time he had not messed it up. Now all he had to do was wait for the phones to start ringing.

Sunday 25 April 1982

The team was exhausted. The late-night news appeal was being hailed a success; the phones were ringing endlessly. While it was hard work going through every statement, the team was buoyed by the knowledge that just one witness needed to be right. They now had concrete names to investigate. By the afternoon plods were on the streets following up various statements.

"Edward Koepp?" Chris repeated. He rifled through his notes. The name was familiar. He was knackered; adrenaline was all that was keeping him going into the early hours of the evening. He had already had at least forty conversations today but this name, it rang bells.

"Oh, yes dear, I think that's his name" the old lady replied. "Ever such nice young man, well, he's not so young I suppose, he's a student though. Bit old to be a student I tell 'im, he should get himself a proper job! I only ring – well, you see the number was on the telly last night, dreadful thing to 'appen to them poor girls. My granddaughter, she's at university y'know. I say to 'er she 'as to be so careful these days with all those nutters about. She's going to be a doctor y'know, isn't that wonderful, so clever, can look after me in me old age." She prattled on, forgetting why she was calling.

"Er, Ma'am, that is lovely, yeah. So, this neighbour?" Chris interrupted gently. He motioned to Ray who had just slammed the phone down in frustration. Chris mouthed 'Edward Koepp' silently at him. Ray understood immediately and started to look through all the statements.

"Oh, yes. Well, I've not seen him around you see, and I remember that I saw him last Wednesday and he said he would trim my roses on Saturday and I haven't seen him since." she said in a nonchalant manner. Pausing, she then said with more consideration: "I don't like to think anything bad about him, he is ever so polite, but that appeal from the TV last night, well, that police officer... I don't know, he somehow made it seem so real, and that pretty girl... I don't want to waste your time, police officer, I'm sure you're very busy, but..."

"Ma'am, you did the right thing." Chris said, passing the phone to a plonk to get her details. Chris ran over to Ray's desk. "This one, Edward Koepp, I know I've heard it today." Ray pulled a statement from the pile.

" 'Ere it is. Yes, someone else reported he's been away from his house since Wednesday. It was a young woman called this morning. She says she called cos she remembered 'er neighbour had been away a few weeks ago and the appeal last night, the dates of the last girl's disappearance jogged her memory. I think this is it!" Ray said excitedly. Chris and Ray looked towards the Manc Lion's office seeing their leader taking a rare nap at his desk.

Gene was roused from his slumber by the sound of gentle knocking at the glass pane of his door. He was utterly drained, his clothes were unkempt, his hair shaggy and he was in need of a shave.

"What?" he demanded.

"I think you want to come in on this one, Guv." Ray said tentatively. "Two people have called 'bout him. Been missing for a few days and was away around the dates of the previous murders. He lives on the other side of London which is why neither of them contacted us before; they reckoned they didn't make a connection when they saw the reports in the papers like."

"Name." Gene requested.

"'Er, Edward Koepp. 'e's a student, studying psychology, he..." Gene's mind clicked into gear. Psychology. He understands what he was doing, she had said, the distant voice from the tape running through his mind. The fact that he could cover his tracks so carefully had indicated to Alex that he might have knowledge of psychology or police procedurals. Despite the disturbing nature of the deaths, they had been calm, clinical and calculated.

"Let's go." Gene interrupted, grabbing his long coat. He grasped Ray's shoulder as he pushed him through the door. Ray inwardly acknowledged the slightest of gestures of forgiveness.

Gene Hunt stood in the middle of Edward Koepp's front room, the calm at the centre of storm. Clothes and bits of paper floated around him as officers rummaged through every crevice. Gene appeared to his officers the epitome of Buddhist calm but his heart was pounding. This is where he lived, where he had eaten, slept, watched television, and planned his vile attacks. He could feel Alex's presence as if the thoughts from Koepp's imagination had left an imprint in the walls. Gene could feel the air molecules vibrate with the evil that permeated the room like dust.

"The bins." Gene directed. It was dark, was it now Monday?

"131 Manor Court." Chris yelled, falling over himself as he rushed from the kitchen to the living room to find Gene. "It's another apartment he owns in North London. There's a gas bill in his bin. I think this is it!"

TBC...

A/N: As usual, all reviews welcome! And again, so sorry about what I'm doing to Alex!