"Here's the top she was wearing," he said. He placed a lacy mauve garment on the steel. "Here is her underwear. And she was wearing jeans and a light jacket."

  Carefully and with the respect that May knew he would show, he placed the clothing in a row.

  May glanced at Owen. This was their chance, to prove or disprove what they thought might take them further.

  "So you say we're looking for any trace of a scent."

  Andy peered down at the lilac blouse and then looked at the lapels of the fabric jacket.

  "You know, what I am seeing here, is an oily stain. It's very faint but it's discernible. Take a look. It's on the fabric of the blouse and also on the jacket."

  "Could it be perfume residue?" May asked.

  "Looks like it could. There are a lot of things it could be. But an expensive, concentrated perfume will have a lot of oils in it and it might well leave a light stain. That's why they always say you should be careful about spraying perfume directly onto clothing, as it can stain.”

  May guessed that if perfume had caused the stain, there was surely a chance that some residue of the scent itself might remain.

  "Here, on the lapels. This is where I'm seeing the mark the most."

  Andy bent forward, holding his mask away from his face. He remained by the clothing for a minute. Then he straightened up, looking surprised.

  "What do you think?" he asked.

  May bent forward.

  She inhaled carefully, picking up a medley of different scents. An undertone of rot that made her stomach twist. A hint of earth.

  And above and beyond those, she caught the distinctive fragrance that she remembered breathing in from Rosemary’s corpse, that she’d seen in that flowery graveyard.

  "It's there! Definitely!"

  Owen bent forward and breathed in.

  "May, it's the same," he said. "Undoubtedly the same. This woman was doused in this perfume when she was killed. No way would she have applied it so that it stained the whole of her clothing. He’s using it. For sure. And now, we need to find out what it is. Perhaps he’s even buying it up from the department store in town."

  May saw the excitement in his eyes as he stared at her.

  For the first time in this case, they had a strong and solid lead, a direct connection that they could follow, and if they did, it might just lead them to the killer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Half an hour later, May pulled up outside the mall where, just yesterday, Rosemary Pharr had been so brutally snatched.

  They were here to ask what was surely the strangest and most macabre favor that the department store had encountered in a long while.

  “I hope someone there is willing to do this. And I hope that Phil Jones was right about the accuracy of their noses,” May said.

  They climbed out of the car.

  May took the plastic bag that Andy Baker had released to them. After consulting together with him on the best way forward, Andy had agreed to let them snip a piece of Rosemary Pharr’s jacket from the store of clothing in the evidence bag. This was his most recent kill, still drenched in scent.

  They had cut a small piece of fabric away from the jacket, where the distinctive perfume smell was the strongest. That was now safely inside this plastic packet.

  Together, they marched into the mall and headed down the corridor.

  May felt as if this innocent trip into a shopping emporium was somehow going to be a make or break moment in the case.

  The more May thought about this case, the more she became convinced that Phil Jones was not their killer, and there was somebody lurking in the shadows. Somebody who was far too clever and experienced to be caught with a potential murder weapon in their car.

  Somebody who had been operating silently, lethally, for more than ten years in their quiet town.

  That somebody wasn't going to reveal themselves to May's team, she was sure of it. They had to find him. And so far, they didn't have much to go on. But perhaps this visit would open their eyes.

  And then, May truly believed they might be able to start nailing down their killer.

  At this hour, the mall was busy. It was full of Sunday morning shoppers, strolling around with no sense of urgency at all. Feeling stressed, May wove her way through the loitering shoppers, heading for the brightly lit entrance to the department store.

  May glanced inside. She could see that, as she'd expected, there were security cameras everywhere. If the killer had come here to buy his perfume, perhaps that would be a way of tracking him.

  Although, what if he'd even been too clever for that?

  "Let's go in and check this out," she said to Owen.

  They walked inside, and immediately May heard the pleasant music and smelled the mingled scents that were designed to draw in customers, to lure them into this sumptuous space and make them linger while they shopped.

  With no intention of lingering, May headed for the perfume counter.

  A white-uniformed attendant with dark hair and a red-lipstick smile hurried over.

  "How can I help?" she asked.

  "We are police officers investigating the recent murders," May said, and saw the woman instantly pale.

  "We heard about Rosemary. It’s too terrible. We can’t believe she’s gone. We were saying this morning, the girls and I, that anything we can do to help, we will.”

  “Is anyone in your team an expert at identifying perfume scents?” May asked.

  Immediately, the attendant nodded. “Josh is the manager of the fragrances and cosmetics section. He has, like, a unique ability to identify perfumes. He even does work for some of the perfume houses.”

  “Is Josh here?”

  The attendant checked her watch. “Yes, he should be. He was going to drive through to our other branch, but he shouldn’t have left yet. Let me call him.”

  Quickly, she took out her phone and dialed. She spoke briefly.

  “He’s coming right now,” she said.

  Now, she looked curious, as if wondering why Josh’s skill was needed by the police.

  A few moments later, a dark haired and smartly dressed man hurried over. He was slim, in his mid-twenties, and immaculately groomed, with a helpful smile on his face.

  “Morning, morning. How can I help?” he asked. Then his eyes widened as he took in who they were. “This is police business? Is anyone here a suspect?” he asked anxiously. May could see he was deeply worried that one of his team might have been Rosemary’s killer.

  “At this stage we are gathering evidence," May explained. "And we desperately need your help. We need you to identify a scent, if you can, from this piece of fabric.”

  She held up the plastic bag.

  “Sure, I can do that,” Josh said confidently. But May wasn’t done yet. She needed to warn this man what the implications were.

  “Before you go ahead, I must inform you that this fabric is from Rosemary’s jacket. When her body was found early this morning, it was clear that the fabric had been doused in strong and very distinctive smelling perfume. The killer must have done it, and that’s why we are here.”

  Now Josh looked utterly shocked. May hoped he wasn’t too put off by the macabre nature of the request to agree to the favor.

  “Doused in perfume? But she doesn’t wear it! She’s allergic!” he exclaimed. “That’s one of the reasons I hesitated to hire her, although she turned out to be a fabulous salesperson. But yes, she wouldn’t have done that. So he did it? That’s totally weird. I’m a little unsettled by it, I must admit.” He paused, and May could see he was totally creeped out by having to do this particular task. But then Josh pulled himself together.

  “Give me the fabric, please,” he said. “I’ll see if I can identify this scent.”

  “Thank you,” May said, meaning each heartfelt word.

  With hands that shook slightly, the perfumery manager drew the piece of turquoise fabric out of the plastic bag. He sniffed it, at first hesitantly, and then more deeply.

  “Now this is interesting. Very interesting,” he said.

  “Can you tell what it is?” May asked, anxiety flaring. Would he be able to provide the help they so desperately needed?

  “I can tell you what this perfume is. But it’s one that we don’t stock anymore,” the manager said, with a frown. “We haven’t brought in stock for years, although I do think we still have a tester somewhere in the back. It’s extremely expensive. One of the most expensive scents there is – or rather, was.”

  “Was?” May said.

  “Yes, was. The perfume is called Joy, by Jean Patou. One of the finest fragrances ever made. It’s been on the market for decades. It’s extremely deep, extremely rich. Its signature notes are rose and jasmine. For many years it’s been produced in extremely limited quantities, hence its astronomical price. But a couple of years ago, I believe the company was bought out, and they made the decision to discontinue it. Now there is a new perfume called Joy, produced by Dior, but it has a very different fragrance, which is more sandalwood based. Let me see if we have the old tester bottle for Joy by Jean Patou, here.” He turned and rummaged in a cupboard behind the counter.

  May felt stunned by the information she’d received.

  Finally, they had a very clear lead that could give them a far better insight into the killer.

  He used a distinctive perfume that was extremely expensive and had a very intense signature scent.

  But that perfume had been recently discontinued. Now, May thought she knew why his killing interval was speeding up. Perhaps he was panicking. Perhaps the anticipated shortage, and eventual lack, of the scent he used was making him hurry, and causing him to make errors in his haste.

  And perhaps, because of the shortage, he was buying up what he could. Stockpiling.

  This information was pure gold.

  They had a better chance now of finding this man, May knew it. This exotic, expensive perfume might just be the key that led them to him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  The hunter felt his heart accelerate, feeling uncharacteristically anxious as he drove slowly past the place where his prey lived, wondering if she would be home, and if he could try again.

  Last night, it had not been possible to take her, although he'd wanted to. When he saw her waiting for her cab, he had been convinced that the time was right.

  But it hadn't been. It had been the cruelest coincidence, one that surely never should have happened, that another cab had pulled up, waiting for another resident departing the small condo block.

  He guessed on a Saturday night, that had not been unexpected. People were going out. Partying, in places where scents mingled - so many scents. Food, wine, cologne, perfume.

  There had been some confusion, the hunter remembered. She'd approached the cab expectantly, and in fact she'd almost climbed inside it.

  She'd spoken to the driver. There had been laughter - more from her side, although even the cab driver had given a reluctant smile. And then, a tall young man had come walking out. He'd been the one who had booked this first cab.

  While the hunter waited, trying to remain calm and contain his anger at such a terrible coincidence, the two had spoken - for a couple of long minutes that had felt like hours to him.

  And then, as the man had gotten into his cab and pulled away, the next cab had arrived to ferry his prey safely to her destination.

  An unfortunate set of circumstances. Unfair and unjust. It should not have happened, but it had. He’d felt unreasonably anxious about it. On top of everything else, it had seemed like a bad omen and he’d felt the need to make it right as soon as he could.

  He wasn't going to give up. Perhaps fortune would favor him this morning, especially since he had everything ready that he needed.

  The stick he used to stun his victims was in place. He stunned them only lightly with it, an art he'd perfected over the years. It was by no means a killing blow. He wanted them living and breathing when he applied the bottle of Joy to their chests, to their clothing, soaking them in it.

  He needed the warmth of their bodies to interact with that perfume, sending out the scent of rose petals and jasmine that he remembered so well.

  She'd beaten him, sometimes viciously, always unstoppably. And the more angry she got, the more emotional she became, the more that perfume had emanated from her in waves, creating a wall of fragrance that felt as evil as an attack. Never could he forget it.

  The pain. The abuse. The neglect he'd suffered, all underscored by the luscious, intense waves of that cruelly memorable scent.

  He knew that his interval was increasing now, that he was capturing his prey more often, and there was a reason for this. A good reason.

  In the past, this perfume had been freely available, though difficult to obtain, with only a certain limited edition release being available each year. But even so, the hunter had sourced one bottle, maybe two. It was enough for him.

  It was enough to set his ghosts and demons to rest as he looked into his prey's unconscious face, pouring that almost priceless perfume over the women, drenching their clothing and chest, breathing in the scent he remembered and hated so much.

  He would relive those memories again. The violence. The abuse. He would let them fill his mind. Those terrible words, the cuts, the lacerations, the hissed threats. All scorched in his psyche, hurting him, haunting him.

  And then, using a soft blanket dotted with the remainder of the perfume, he would smother his victims, killing the memories once and for all.

  And then he would bury them in a field of flowers, befitting their youth and beauty, hoping that the flowers would somehow prevent the demons from returning again, even though they crept back inexorably over the months, forcing him to kill again.

  But now there had been an unthinkable tragedy.

  The perfume he needed, he craved, was no longer being manufactured. He could not believe it. How could such a thing happen? How could a famous scent, sold for many decades, be discontinued?

  He'd read and researched. The company had been sold. It was a financial decision. Joy would be no more. A new perfume with the same name was available but it was a completely different scent. It was not the intense, unforgettable fragrance he craved and hated, but yet needed.

  In desperation he'd tried to source and buy as many bottles as he could, knowing that his time to obtain them was limited, that there were now finite bottles left in the world.

  He had a stockpile now, but even so, he was panicking inside. And the panic was making him want to act more often, to try and get the better of his demons once and for all, because eventually the day would come when this perfume was gone, and no more could be obtained.

  And so, in his desperation, his need, he was driving past her condo again, hoping she might be there, and that the elements would align for him at last.

  And there she was. His heart skipped a beat as he spotted her. She was walking from the small grocery store opposite, back to the apartment block.

  Her hair swung and shone in the morning sun. She wore jeans and a pretty, red top. She looked lightly made up. He glanced around, knowing how risky this was, that it was unplanned but necessary.

  He had his stick in the passenger seat, and a bottle of the precious, priceless perfume in his jacket pocket.

  He turned off the car engine, took a deep breath, glanced in the rearview mirror, and stepped out of the car, grasping the stick. She turned to face him. He saw the moment of surprise in her eyes. Not fear, he was not a scary looking person. Just surprise.

  And then, doubt and fear, as she saw the stick, and that he was approaching her with intent.

  "Come here," he muttered.

  "No!" she cried, sounding terrified, but she didn't have a chance to say more.

  He was upon her before she had a chance to react. He crushed his hand over her mouth to stifle the cries, and then, an instant later, she was in his arms, and being dragged toward the trunk of his car, shielding her with his body in case anyone should see them in that instant when he was doing his work.

  As soon as he had her by the car, he struck the back of her head with the stick, silencing her yells of fear and anger. Once she was immobilized, he reached into her jeans pocket and took her phone.

  Then he placed her in the trunk. He could see the long, tapered curve of her ear, the smooth skin of her neck, and even the contour of her lips. His prey. Captured at last.

  Breathing hard, feeling filled with triumph, he closed the trunk, throwing the stick into the passenger seat. He hadn't hit her hard. Its end was not even bloody this time.

  She'd been lightly stunned, and he knew a stunned victim might stay unconscious only a few minutes, and then would wake up. He needed to get far away before that happened, out of range, so there was no chance she could make a noise and sound the alert.

  He hoped he'd done a good enough job, in his haste.

  But this was the start of a new era. He was going to go to a fresh burial ground, a beautiful field, deep in the forest. She would be the first one to grace it. He hoped that it would be hidden and undiscovered for years to come.

  In those flowers, he would smother her.

  With his foot hard on the gas pedal, the hunter swerved back onto the road and sped toward his destination.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  The perfumery manager turned back to May, his face intent and alive with excitement.

  “Here’s the perfume original. May I apply a little on you? Then you can also tell me what you think about the similarity.”

  “Sure,” May said, glad of the chance to be able to tell for herself that there was a match between the two.

  “I’ll apply it to your skin, because as I said, this perfume is concentrated and we don’t want to stain your clothing.”

  He touched the stopper to the inside of May’s wrist.

  Immediately, she smelled it. She drew her breath in, and saw Owen’s excitement reflected in her eyes.

 

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