" Trenchard, meanwhile, whose gaze was fixed upon the boy, became livid as death, but he moved not a muscle. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. You could walk the city streets and with every blink you could take in a new sight of beauty so great that your heart would weep for it. Once more he was the searcher. What he intended to do with it is of little consequence now. He placed his chin upon the top of her head. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men.
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