The Rain Killer by Luke Delaney

communicate back with you, otherwise you’d have to wear an earpiece and that’s not viable, but we’ll be watching you all the time – just keep talking so we know what’s happening and that you’re okay. Understand?’ She nodded that she did, and although Sean could feel her tension, he sensed her excitement too.
    ‘We’re going to target the Shoreditch area,’ he explained, ‘and concentrate all our efforts there.’
    ‘Any particular reason?’ Chopra asked.
    ‘Firstly Vice tell us there’s no pimps working the area,’ Sean answered. ‘So you won’t have to worry about someone trying to roll you over. Secondly it’s the easiest-looking area for us to keep a close eye on you and lastly, it’s the area where the killer first struck, but he hasn’t been back there since. If he’s deliberately altering his target areas, which I think he is, the most likely area he could return to would be Shoreditch.’
    ‘Why return there at all?’ Chopra asked.
    ‘Because he’s almost run out of specific areas frequented by prostitutes,’ Sean explained. ‘He’s done Streatham, the back streets of Brixton, King’s Cross and Paddington. Where else can he go but start revisiting places he’s already been?’ He pulled a brand new mobile phone from his coat pocket and handed it to Daiyu who tentatively accepted it. ‘It’s an untraceable pay-as-you go phone,’ he told her. ‘Never been used before. The memory’s empty except for the number of another untraceable phone that I’ll keep with me throughout. If you need to speak to me, anytime, you use this phone and only this phone.’
    ‘You’ll need more numbers in it than that,’ Chopra told them. ‘I’ll text you a list you can add to the contacts to make it look more genuine. They’re all monitored so they’ll be no problem giving you some back history and credibility, but you’ll need to work out a false history for yourself – something that gives you a reason to have become a street prostitute.’
    ‘I’ll think of something,’ she told them.
    ‘Well you’d better be quick,’ Sean warned her. ‘I need this op up and running within two days. You’d better have your legend down tight by then or the other working girls will rumble you.’
    ‘I’ve been undercover for two years,’ she reminded him. ‘I know how to lie, Sergeant. It’s all I ever do.’
    ‘Good,’ Sean replied without a hint of irony. ‘Just don’t lie to me. This gets too much for you, you tell me straight away.’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Then we’re on,’ Chopra interrupted, ‘and good luck. You’re going to need it.’

Two Weeks Later.
    Daiyu shivered relentlessly as she stood in the doorway of a long since abandoned shop on a run-down, dead-end street in Shoreditch. The night was black as oil, the freezing temperature exacerbated by the pouring rain – her provocative clothes wholly inadequate for keeping her warm and dry. She knew what the terrible weather could mean.
    She’d already been picked up twice that night – both times by undercover Vice officers posing as customers, giving her a chance to warm up and drink something hot. But now she was back in the doorway with the cold cutting through to her bones. She checked her phone for the time and saw it was almost 1am – round about the time the postmortems indicated the killer usually struck. She felt a chill go up her spine that had little to do with the cold and tried to reassure herself that she was well-covered by Sean’s team, even if she couldn’t see them or hear them.
    DS Corrigan interested her. So intense and determined. From the little that DS Chopra had told her it was clear he was a risk-taker too. Working undercover in a prison took some courage, but would he be as willing to risk the lives of others as he was his own? Would he take such risks with her life? She reckoned he’d be a pain in the backside to work for, although she had little doubt he got results. It seemed to grow even