"I can see why you would have had some problems," May said.

  "They accused me of threatening the locals, but all I was doing was trying to explain why they should allow their verges and front yards to be farmed by those who want to grow, you know, cabbages and the like? But people get very defensive and interpret things wrong. Suddenly, rumors abounded that I had made the threats. Of course, I didn’t. I like to think of myself as a pillar of the community, even if a small one. Perhaps more of a post than a pillar. And I get on well with all my students. They’re wonderful young people."

  "Okay," May said.

  To her, the Professor was starting to come across as a man who was highly eccentric, and most definitely consorted with criminals, but who didn't seem to have a real motive for these particular crimes. However, there was still the matter of his alibi. Could he account for his time when the murders were committed?

  "What were your movements yesterday afternoon?" she asked him.

  "Yesterday afternoon, I was at one of the local farms. A normal farm, growing produce. I was giving growing advice. I do that a lot, which is another reason why the university should stop spreading rumors that I clash with locals, because they all love me. It was a farm that belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Hudson. We did a tour of the farm in the afternoon, and I gave them many pointers. We did soil analysis and talked about the changes they should make in what was planted where. Then they were kind enough to ask me to stay for supper, so I got home at about eight-thirty p.m. I don't have a car, I either cycle or use a cab. On this instance, I took a cab."

  May nodded.

  She was satisfied that this man was not their killer and they needed to keep looking for more common threads between the victims.

  But, at that moment, her phone rang. It was Pete, the locksmith, calling.

  Was he at the safe now? Had he managed to get inside? Or was he about to report a failure?

  "I'd better take this," she said to Owen as she rushed out of the trailer.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Reaper waited in the dark of the barn. This was an old barn, seldom used, now home to only a few chickens and a pile of rusting and disused equipment.

  But he'd observed it was the place where the chickens liked to hide their eggs away, scurrying to the dark corners of the barn, among old sacks and hay bales, to sit on them.

  And because of that, the farmer's wife used to come in every evening to collect the eggs. He had watched and waited. He knew. Now, he was ready to strike.

  The smell of old hay and the pungent odor of the chicken house below permeated the air.

  But he didn't mind. He had grown accustomed to the smell as he sat in the darkness and waited for his victim. He had been waiting for a long time, sitting quietly, with his mind in a state of meditation and his senses alert.

  He was in a state of heightened awareness. He heard and saw everything around him.

  At first, the barn had been warm and stuffy, heated by the afternoon sun that had filtered through the small windows. Now, as evening arrived, the breeze was freshening, and the barn was cool. He was sure that in winter, it would be icy.

  But winter would not come for the farmer's wife. His lips tightened as he thought about the fact that she had already enjoyed one winter too many. She'd outstayed the time she was owed. Now, it was up to him to correct this.

  She should be here any moment and she would be carrying a basket. He'd seen how she put the eggs into a basket, then put the basket on her arm, and walked out of the barn as if she didn't care about them at all.

  He thought, in fact, that she looked sullen and dour. Ungrateful and ungracious about the borrowed time he knew she was enjoying — not that she seemed to be enjoying it much.

  He'd seen her, when he crept near to peer at her through the windows, frowning and muttering away to herself. She'd looked twice as unhappy as she actually was, he thought.

  It would be a good thing to end her misery and her discontent. She'd been allotted another span of life, but she was wasting it, he felt. She was a sad and unhappy woman who didn't deserve to be alive any longer.

  The Reaper, ready to do his work, thought of the two lives he'd ended, the two imbalances he'd corrected. Soon, very soon, the number would be three. He understood the satisfaction in the task when it had been carried out exactly as it should.

  He waited now, as still as the old, rusted wheelbarrow next to him, as quiet as the mother hen on her eggs in the corner, who from time to time gave him a wary glance but otherwise, took no notice of him.

  He would wait here until she came. And then he would end her existence, her borrowed time.

  His mind would be clear and calm, his actions precise. He would do it with a sense of serenity and satisfaction.

  The image of the farmer's wife filled his mind. He knew her routine well.

  She would come. She was always on time. He'd observed this as he'd watched and waited, coming here several times over the past few weeks, getting an idea of her daily and her weekly routine because this had to be done perfectly. He could not risk a mistake.

  He'd left a lure for her: a small clue, to make sure she was well into the barn when he struck. He wanted her to know, to see the figure of death before she died, so that she had a few moments to regret her stolen days.

  There. He sat straighter as he heard the plodding tread of footsteps approach. He held his breath, waited.

  His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could clearly see her in the doorway now, faintly lit by the setting sun, silhouetted against the backdrop of the night.

  Thinking she was alone, she turned her head from side to side, looking at the chickens.

  Then, her gaze fell on the lure he'd left in place for her. It was a small flashlight at the back of the barn. He'd turned it on, and then placed it in a heap of straw, so that it gave the golden grass an eerie glow.

  He heard the indrawn hiss of her breath as she took in this odd, creepy sight.

  "What is that?" she muttered to herself. "Did George get drunk again and drop a lantern in the straw?"

  George was her husband. This he knew. He knew the family well. She was right. George was a drunkard, who dosed himself with half a bottle of whiskey every night when his farm duties were done. He was also ungrateful, not that it mattered. Gratitude present or gratitude lacking, the balance had to be set right, and that was his task.

  He waited, invisible in the barn, as she walked through. He heard her feet slipping on the loose piece of wood as she traversed the dusty floor. One of the chickens bolted out, wings flapping, clucking in annoyance at being disturbed from its resting place.

  She stumbled on an old board and caught her breath. She wouldn't have that problem if she took better care of the place, he thought. You would think she would, after what had happened.

  She reached the flashlight.

  She picked it up and examined it. He saw her decide that it was not one of hers, not an item she knew. But did she care? Clearly not. She just let out an annoyed breath, as if this was one more inconvenience, one more thing to deal with.

  Then she used the flashlight to shine her way back to the door. And in its beam, he let her see him.

  He stood, knowing what a threatening figure he would be: tall and black-clothed, with the dark hood obscuring his face. He knew how her gaze would focus, instantly, on the razor-sharp blade of the scythe in his hand.

  He let her see the scythe before he moved, knowing she would be frozen in shock. He had wanted to take her by surprise, to allow her the chance to see him, but not give her time to put up a fight. He also didn’t want her to run. The second victim had run, and he’d panicked for a while that she would escape him. Eventually he’d caught up, but that had been a mistake.

  It needed to be fast, yet simple. A quick and painless end.

  He saw the look of horror on her face — her eyes wide in shock, her mouth falling open, as she realized what he was going to do. He saw the flash of terror in her eyes. That was it. Now she knew, she had realized. And now, he could strike.

  She made a noise. It was a strangled, desperate sound. Then she screamed. Startled by the noise, the chickens began to rush about, flapping and squawking, making for the door.

  Even as she started to let out her horrified cry, he took a step toward her, and swung the blade in an arc. He knew it would be forceful and perfectly accurate as he aimed for her chest with all the strength he could summon, hearing the blade thud cleanly home, feeling it reach its target, her beating heart.

  She collapsed, the scream abruptly cut off. He moved forward and stepped over the body. Although his actions were calm and deliberate, inside he was bubbling with elation at his success. He felt all the satisfaction of a job well-done when he completed his task. She'd seen him. She'd seen the promise of death in his hooded eyes.

  Then, she had seen it. And now this job was done, and he could move on to the next person on his list.

  There was no time to waste.

  Grasping his scythe, the Reaper left the barn and melted into the night, soundless and invisible in the shadows.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "Hello?" May answered the locksmith's call breathlessly. "Pete?"

  "Evening, May. I've got news for you."

  News? Good or bad? Her stomach clenched as he continued, "I'm here at the storage units. They're about to close, but they stayed open a little later to allow me to work on this safe."

  "And?" This was sounding positive. Dare she hope, May thought.

  "I've managed to open the safe." Pete sounded pleased with himself.

  "Oh, that's great. Thank you so much, Pete." Staring into the night, finally, May allowed her thoughts to race ahead. Finally, she'd be able to find out what it held. She couldn't believe that from finding the key, she had come this far, and was now going to be able to access the secrets it had locked away.

  "Are you still there?" Pete asked.

  "Yes. Yes, I'm here. It's just, I’m trying to work out how I can get there immediately." There was so much she still needed to do on the case, but since they’d just wrapped up with a suspect, perhaps now was a good time to take an hour’s break.

  "I'm afraid they're about to close," Pete said apologetically. "There's no way they will stay open longer."

  Remembering the rather unhelpful attendant, May acknowledged that. Pete had done his best. There was no way she could get there tonight, even if she wanted to.

  "Could you lock it up, please? Perhaps the attendant will agree to keep the keys overnight and I can get there tomorrow," she said regretfully, wondering if the case would be finished by tomorrow.

  "I'll do that, Deputy. I’m sure she will agree to keep them for you."

  "Thank you so much. And please, leave your invoice there too." May wanted to pay him as soon as she could for the hard and difficult work he had done, going into the evening, to allow the stubborn safe to open.

  "Thank you, and goodnight."

  "Goodnight," May said.

  She put her phone away, now feeling even more urgency to catch this killer because only when this case was closed, would she have a gap in her working day.

  Glancing toward her car, she saw Owen approaching.

  "Is everything okay?" he asked, sounding concerned.

  May nodded. She didn’t want to burden Owen with the latest news on the safe. She felt as if she didn’t want to tell anyone about it until she knew if it would lead anywhere or not.

  “It was just a personal issue I had to sort out,” she explained.

  Owen sighed as they climbed into the car.

  "May, I feel like we've made no progress today as yet. We've been working on this case since early this morning. And we still haven't figured out any connection between the victims."

  May nodded, acknowledging his frustration. She felt just as helpless.

  "Let's take a drive back to the police department and go through the case files again. In the meantime, we can discuss what we know. Perhaps, with both of us focusing on these notes, we can find answers."

  A few moments later, they were driving back through the night. It was a beautiful late summer evening, with a light breeze and a full moon. May saw that the cars had both been removed from the area where she'd led the gunmen and felt glad that those reckless criminals were under arrest and being questioned by the local police. She remembered with a shiver how it had felt when that bullet had cracked the air apart as it sped past her “borrowed” car.

  May had the feeling that this case was not going to be solved easily. She suspected that it was going to take a lot more work and a lot more time. But she wasn't going to give up on it, and there was still more they could do tonight.

  "Let’s look at the similarities we have so far. Maybe that’ll tell us how he’s choosing them. Both the victims are from the farming community. They live relatively close by," May said.

  "They both live alone, if that's relevant at all," Owen said.

  "It might be. Because it might have made the killer think they were easier targets," May theorized.

  "So you're thinking it could have been somebody who knew them?"

  "I think it might have been, purely because this is such a small community. In this farming area, so many people know each other, or if they don't, there are only one or two degrees of separation," May said.

  “But being a farming community, they do hire seasonal workers. And it’s coming up to harvest time soon. Could one of the farms have taken on a rotten apple? Hired a killer without knowing it?”

  “That’s a possibility too,” she agreed.

  "They were both out running or walking. That's another common factor so far," Owen said.

  The words “so far” gave May a chill. She knew this killer wasn't done yet.

  She felt there was something else they had in common, another similarity that she and Owen were not taking into account. Her subconscious was bothering her. It was telling her that she was missing something.

  But how could there be something? May sighed in frustration as she turned off the dark, potholed side road to join the main road leading back to Fairshore. They'd surely taken everything obvious into account. Although maybe they hadn’t done that yet.

  "I have a feeling that something is staring us in the face, but we're just not seeing it," May complained as she drove.

  "I wish I could think what it is," Owen said with a sigh.

  Maybe when she got the case files in front of her, and was able to read through the updated information, that elusive thought would be clearer. Once more, she felt the sense of urgency flare within her. She knew they were in a race against time, with an unknown adversary.

  The stakes could not be higher. Lives in this small, peaceful community were at risk. And, right now, she and Owen were at a disadvantage because they had no idea who they were up against. As she drove through the quiet farmland, interspersed only by the occasional lights of farmhouses, she couldn't help wondering with a sense of unease where the killer was now.

  Was he among this community, part of the local population, a local man who for some unknown reason had decided to start killing?

  Or was he new to town, a recent arrival in the community? Was he a hired hand who was setting out on a murder spree, knowing that he’d be leaving town free and clear in a few weeks?

  As she was turning that angle over in her mind, her phone rang. May jumped at the sound, quickly grabbing her cell.

  It was Sheriff Jack, and with a sick feeling in her stomach, May answered. For her boss to be calling at this time of night, May feared the worst had happened, and when she heard Jack's voice, his tone confirmed it.

  "May, it’s bad news,” he said. She quickly put the phone on speaker, so Owen could hear.

  “Has there been another kill?” she asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

  “Yes, there’s just been a killing called in and it looks like the same perpetrator.” She heard Owen gasp in shock as Jack continued. “It’s on the Hopeford farm. A woman’s body has just been found in the barn. I'll send you the coordinates. I'm on the way to the scene already. Join me as soon as you can."

  "We'll be there in ten minutes," May said.

  She felt fear and discouragement fill her as she confronted the truth.

  He'd killed again, already, in a shockingly close interval. Three victims had died at his hands.

  She had a terrible feeling that he was only getting started. They were in a race against time. And the killer was already far ahead.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "No, no," May murmured to herself as she swerved onto the road leading out to the farms, ready to speed toward the crime scene they had been too slow to prevent. She sensed Owen glancing at her in concern. She couldn’t hide how upset and traumatized she felt at this new tragedy.

  She flicked the lights of her car on, the bright blue and red flashing colors illuminating the pitch-dark night.

  This farm was farther away than the other two. It wasn't in the same area but was a few miles deeper into the countryside. May didn't know the Hopeford farm personally, but she knew that this area was one of the poorer ones, with a few properties that had fallen into disrepair after their owners had died, and a few that were still operational, but on more of a subsistence scale.

  "He's done it, May. Killed again, while we were chasing down the wrong suspect. If only we'd been able to stop this,” Owen muttered, echoing May's troubled thoughts exactly.

  "I just wish we had gotten more information on him," she said angrily, feeling that the burden of blame lay squarely on her own shoulders. "We were identifying leads and suspects from the moment this happened. Why did we fail in getting to the right one?”

  “It happens,” Owen said, and now May could see he was trying to make her feel better. “We can only work with the evidence we have. Maybe at this scene, we'll find what we need to catch him."