The Unseen by James McKenna

course,” she added.

    “Of course.” Katherine smiled and giggled with her. She swivelled her body, leant forward, their heads close. “Not sex, computer games,” she whispered.
     
    “I’ve never played,” Teresa also whispered.

    “I’m Southern Ireland champion, I’ve won first prize in the Kay-ling finals; money.” Her breath felt short as she sighed with the relief of confession.

    Teresa stared back, her mouth open. “How much?”

    “Two thousand euros.”

    “What will you tell the Sisters? They might expel you.”

    “I’m telling no-one, no-one but you. I’ve wangled treatment for my hand this weekend, in Dublin. I’ll collect the prize and give it straight to my parents. They’ve spent so much on me. The Sisters need never find out.”

    “You’re a sly one.” Teresa took her hands. “And me thinking you were Holy Jo herself. You’re so daring.”

    “I arranged it with Crystal. I meet Zoby this Saturday at Trinity College in Dublin, and if I take my old files they will give me new ones. I downloaded final instructions this evening in the library. I’ll play them tonight.”

    “How?”

    Katherine pulled her bag from under the bed and lifted out the games-console. “Don’t tell, please.”

    “Never. How’s it work?”

    “Best in the dark. I use headphones for the sound. This game, Princess Kay-ling, it’s all loaded on flash drive. It’s complicated so I’ll show you when I come back. I have it set up now, ready for tonight.”

    “I can’t wait to have a go.”

    “Don’t tell, promise?” she repeated.

    “Cross my heart.” Teresa leant close, her voice hardly audible. “I have a satin suspender belt and stockings, I wore them last Sunday to Mass.”

    “You minx.” Both giggled their voices half-choked with gasps of suppressed snorts.
     
    An hour later Katherine drew the curtains and fitted her headphones. Crouched beneath bedclothes, she viewed the play-screen and moved hips with the strutting sway of Princess Kay-ling. When she switched off two hours later, her mind held conviction she must meet Zoby near the inner entrance of Trinity College, 11 a.m. Saturday. She needed to wear something yellow and take all her old files. She had never felt such exhilaration and confidence. She could trust Zoby, Crystal said so.

CHAPTER 7
    In his warehouse office, Sean sweated hours over the Poor Girl file becoming more and more certain. He wanted this guy, wanted him in a box or a cell. He began to understand Victoria’s emotional involvement. She had been hunting a human misfit who viewed women as objects for his sadistic gratification. Sean channelled his own anger. It was a professional necessity. While Victoria investigated the London murders, he knew she would have done the same, but forced to turn away, her anger had now become raw and deep. Even worse, it had become personal.
     
    Without Victoria’s DNA information, the Sinclair and Carter murders had only circumstantial connection. Although both carried evidence of rape, abuse and butchery, after Carter’s decapitation, except for the ears, the body had not been touched. In contrast, Lizzie Sinclair had been systematically cleared of all primary organs. The Suffolk woman had her throat slit and her torso hacked open in a frenzied attack of stab wounds. Pieces were missing, but evidence showed disturbance of the remains by forest animals. He emailed the Forensic Science Service for the conclusive DNA match. If proof could be established of involvement by organised crime, SOCA had an ongoing op and a vicious killer, but he doubted there was a connection. Gangs rarely mutilated except to demonstrate power of punishment. This kind of savagery produced no profit. The only other link not investigated was their individual involvement with computer technology, something Sinclair had started to look at just before his death. From the page numbering, most of his notes on this were missing. Sean put it down to drunken