The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller

Claire knew that more than anyone.

A steeliness had returned to her voice. ‘I take it by you mentioning him, he’s been kicking off?’

‘He’s found a few things out about you from your reputation alone. He thinks you hate him.’

‘He’s close… Hate is such a terrible word. He knows where the door is and it’s open any time, day or night, if he wants to walk…’

Stefan nodded to himself, taking in her words. Then his eyes met hers. He saw the seriousness in her face.

‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Just wanted you to know he’s not happy.’

‘Boo-fucking-hoo.’ Stefan rolled his eyes and she leaned in closer to him. ‘I’m not going to apologise for who I am, Fletch. I have to be hard and when arrogant screw-ups like him are sent my way, they need to learn to toe the line.’

Stefan narrowed his eyes. ‘Screw-ups?’

She fell silent.

‘Is it something to do with why he was transferred? ’Cos you do realise not everybody is buying into the close-to-family excuse.’

She kept her face neutral.

Stefan shrugged. ‘People talk, that’s all I’m saying.’

‘It’s nothing, Fletch, forget I said anything.’ She felt the weight of his stare but avoided his eyes. ‘So,’ she said, trying to deflect attention away from Crest, ‘what happened to that girl you were dating? Doesn’t she like fireworks?’

Stefan grimaced. ‘Leigh couldn’t make it. I think she’s about to chuck me anyway.’

‘Really?’

Stefan gave a mock laugh. ‘Don’t pretend to care.’

‘You’re questioning my sincerity?’

‘Personally, I always thought that divorce of yours left you dead inside.’

She gave half a smile. ‘Touché, Stefan.’

‘Oh, first name for once. I’m flattered. Did I touch a nerve?’

‘Simon didn’t cut it enough as a husband to even come close to touching a nerve, Fletcher.’

Stefan glanced at her. ‘I heard DCI Forester is dating again.’

Claire raised an eyebrow and sniffed with indifference. ‘You shouldn’t listen to gossip.’ She knew he was talking in jest and on the surface she grinned, but inside she felt a little sad.

Claire had been married to DCI Simon Forester for three years. He served at Welwyn Garden City police station, some eight miles from Haverbridge. They’d met at a charity ball, and after a brief engagement, they’d married too quickly without really knowing anything about each other.

The relationship had turned sour after the first year and the pressure of their jobs helped drive a wedge between them, and they became more friends than lovers.

When Claire had risked an affair with another man, they became even less than that and it was Claire who filed for divorce, and immediately reverted back to her maiden name.

Surprisingly, despite feeling little for Simon, she felt the twinge of jealousy. It wasn’t as if her love life was flourishing. Her dedication to her job didn’t allow much time for a personal life, but she hated the thought there could be anyone else in her ex’s life. Certainly not someone who could compare to her anyway.

As more fireworks erupted overhead, Claire pushed Stefan towards the edge of the lake, until they stood just feet from the edge of the frozen water.

He shoved the rest of his hotdog into his mouth and grinned. ‘You’re aware you’re supposed to be playing the part of the submissive Leigh, aren’t you?’

‘Submissive? You’re well shot of her, Fletch, by the sounds of it.’

‘When I spend my working days with you, I need dominant like a hole in the head.’

‘It’s less crowded here, stop moaning,’ Claire said. Then she saw Stefan’s eye was trained on something else off to their left.

‘You see that?’ he said.

CHAPTER 3 (#ulink_6f9a20b6-d432-590f-8897-df06482c0a06)

The group of teenage boys continued to shove each other, shouting and laughing, goading each other towards the lake’s frozen edge. One of them, Sean, who was much fatter than the rest, shoved his shoulder into his friend, Harry, with such brute force that the boy spilt his drink.

‘You fat fucker,’ Harry said, wiping the beer from his jeans.

‘Such a hard man,’ Sean jeered, the rest of the pack laughing and jumping around in a drunken mess. ‘Too scared to go on the ice.’

‘Don’t see you on it, you fat twat,’ Harry said, shoving his fist hard into an ample shoulder. Standing a good head taller than Harry, who was thin and wiry, Sean squared his large frame up to his opponent.

‘Twenty quid says you’re a fucking wimp.’ His voice was low and the alcohol seemed to roll off his tongue in an invisible boozy haze. Harry looked over Sean’s shoulder at their peers.

One boy was trying to chat to a group of young girls, who clearly weren’t interested. The rest were lighting up, drinking or pushing each other closer to the lake’s edge, laughing like a pack of hyenas.

Looking back into Sean’s eyes, Harry raised his chin. ‘Make it thirty. You’d better have the money.’

*

‘You see that?’ he said.

Claire followed Stefan’s gaze and sighed.

A boy, aged around thirteen, was walking on the ice, about twenty feet from the embankment. Even from this distance, they could see that the ice grew thin towards the middle of the lake.

Claire shook her head. ‘Why are kids so bloody stupid?’

Stefan sighed and dusted his hands free of crumbs. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we’d better break this up.’

*

Harry, the boy on the ice, barely registered any fear, even when the ice underneath his feet started to crack. He looked back to his friends on the bank and laughed.

Trying to play the hard man, he took another step towards the middle of the lake and slipped, crashing down on the ice with brute force.