A questioning look. A first innocent meeting. He was lucky. The knife had told him so. He had found his Purpose in life. A Purpose he was good at it. ...nd better yet, he liked it. His attention was drawn back to the bloody, abused girl in his hands. He carried her by the throat back through the door and down the rickety basement steps. Her fingers were digging into his hands, nails drawing bloody furrows, her bare feet were kicking at his legs. He didn’t feel it. All he felt was the pull of. I had a lunchtimemeeting with a client and, as I made my way out of the office, I surprisedPeter Friend, arching over Charlie seated at the desk and explaining infar too much detail some figures on the screen. For her part, Charlie didnot try to disguise her bored expression and did her best to ignore himand scan through the pages.An hour later, I returned but there was no sign of Charlie. With a fullbladder, I rushed through my office and into my private bathroom, where avision stopped me. More

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