I knocked on the door and on hearing the familiar “Come in” I entered the office. The boss was sat there with a prominent-looking chap wearing gold-framed spectacles, cheap after shave and a duster-jacket. He seemed to be of an authoritative disposition, so I wasn’t surprised when the boss introduced him, showing me his ID and letter of recommendation.

“Frank, this is doctor Reynolds – an eminent psychologist from Scott Clinic Mental Institution in Rainhill. He’s been brought in to help us build a mental profile of The Sewer man. He also believes the murders in question could have been committed by one of his ex-patients from the Mental Institution, who escaped a month or two before the first of these killings took place”

Brilliant!

I thought,

At last – a decent lead!

After shaking hands with doctor Reynolds, I listened intently to his description of the patient in question and went through the case-notes he had prepared. I asked him about The Sewer man’s psychological profile and generally pressed him for his professional opinions on the many and varied distasteful acts of dismemberment performed by the killer. He had certainly done his homework on the case and I was more than pleased to learn that I would be working hand-in-hand with such an amazing mind as his.

“I think the first practical thing for us to do” stated doctor Reynolds, “is to visit the latest murder scene. That way I may be able to use my medical knowledge and capability to get even more of an insight to the abilities of this man and in that way aid you better in your investigation. Do you agree?”

The boss shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Well, if you think it will be of any help doctor Reynolds, sure, why not? Frank here can take you to the latest murder site and along the way you can get to understand each others working methods a little better. What d’you say Frank?”

“Fine by me!”

That’s how I ended up one mid-July afternoon scouring around the stinking, rat-infested sewerage tunnels in Warrington’s Wharf Street area, which lead out onto the banks of the Manchester Ship Canal. I guided doctor Reynolds through the area of the latest crime scene that had only taken place several hours prior to our being there. Doctor Reynolds seemed to take a deep pride in his knowledge on the inner workings of this strange criminal’s mind. It seemed almost eerie how he came up with the goods on what made The Sewer man tick…he really had done his homework on this guy! Mind you, I added to myself as an afterthought, if he’s worked as closely with him as a patient as he said he has, it’s not as if he doesn’t know the man.

It was as doctor Reynolds and I were exploring the main part of the sewer when I got the call over my mobile ‘phone from Joey.

“Frank! Frank! Are you there?”

“Just a minute while I take this call, doctor” I stated, turning my back to him whilst he seemed strangely engrossed with a pool of liquid in the main outlet pipe.

“Yeah, Frank here – what’s up, Joe?”

“Frank – there was a call just after you left. There’s been another murder last night – a guy called doctor Reynolds from -”

Those were the last words I heard before being grabbed forcefully from behind. I saw a sliver of light glinting off the bowie-knife that appeared before me, it’s razor-sharp blade thirsty for blood. Strong, experienced hands held my struggling body with ease as the knife bit deep into my belly, disembowelling me, intestines and organs splaying out of the ever-widening rip in my gut. “You crafty son of a-” I gasped as the sewer tunnels rebounded with the piercing giggles and shrieks of maniacal laughter…

The Sewer man had struck again!