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It didn’t last as long as I’d expected. Surprisingly, Adam proved more fragile than the German shepherd. Once he’d lapsed into unconsciousness following the dislocation of his limbs, he proved impossible to rouse. I waited for hours, but nothing seemed to bring him round; not pain, not cold water, not warmth. I was disappointed, I admit it. His pain had been a mere shadow of mine, his punishment not enough for the betrayal that occasioned it.

I finished what I had to do, neatly and swiftly, just after midnight. Then I took him off the rack and folded him into a heavy-duty garden rubbish sack. I put that inside a black Bradfield Metropolitan Council bin bag. It was a struggle to get the dead weight back up the cellar steps and into the wheelbarrow, but my hours pumping iron paid off.

I couldn’t wait to get home to my computer, to transform the evening into something transcendent. But I still had work to do before I could relax and indulge myself. I drove into the city centre just above the legal speed limit – not so fast I’d get pulled for speeding, and not so slow that I’d be stopped on suspicion of being a careful drunk driver. I made for the gay cruising area behind the university. Temple Fields used to be a student area, filled with small cafés, restaurants, shops and bars with low prices and standards. Then, about ten years ago, a couple of the bars became gay. Our left-wing city council responded to pressure and funded a gay and lesbian centre, which moved into the basement of an Indian restaurant. That seemed to trigger a domino effect, and within a year or two, Temple Fields had become Cruising City and the straight students had moved over to Greenholm on the far side of campus. Now, Temple Fields was home to gay bars, clubs, chichi bistros, shops selling leather and bondage gear, and a nightly rent rack right along the canal.

By half past one on a Tuesday morning, there were still quite a few men out on the streets. I drove around a couple of times, concentrating on the area round Crompton Gardens. The square was dark; most of the streetlights had been vandalized for reasons of sexual privacy, and the council was too strapped for cash to repair them. Besides, none of the local businesses was complaining; the darker the square, the more desirable the area, the bigger their profits.

I looked around cautiously. Nothing stirred. I wrestled the bag to the lip of the boot, then half rolled, half carried it on to the low wall. I tipped it over the edge with a rustling thud and closed the tailgate as quietly as I could. I took a penknife out of my pocket, leaned over the wall and slit the bags open. I pulled them free of the body and crumpled them into a ball.

Just after two, I parked Adam’s car a couple of streets away from his house then walked back to my jeep, stuffing the bags in a litter bin on the way. I was in bed by three. In spite of my burning desire to carry on with my work, I was overwhelmed with exhaustion. Not surprising, considering the effort I’d expended. I was asleep as soon as I switched off the light.

When I woke, I rolled over and looked at the clock. Then I checked with my watch. I had to accept its corroboration. I’d been asleep for thirteen and a half hours. I don’t think I’ve ever slept for that length of time, not even after general anaesthetic. I was furious with myself. I’d been looking forward to sitting down at my computer to relive and rebuild my encounter with Adam till it more closely resembled my deepest fantasies. But now I barely had enough time to shower and eat.

On my way into work, I picked up a late city final edition of the Bradfield Evening Sentinel Times. I’d made page two of the paper:

NAKED BODY FOUND

The mutilated body of a naked man was found in Bradfield’s gay village early this morning.

Council worker Robbie Greaves made the grisly discovery as he made a routine rubbish collection in the Crompton Gardens area of Temple Fields.

Now the city’s gay community fears this may be the first act of a gay serial killer like the man who recently terrorized London’s homosexuals.

The body was found among shrubs behind a wall in the park, a notorious night-time meeting place for gay men looking for casual sex.

The man, said to be in his late twenties, has not yet been identified. Police describe him as white, 5ft 10ins, muscular build, with short dark wavy hair and blue eyes. He has no distinguishing marks or tattoos.

A police spokesman said, ‘The man’s throat had been cut and his body mutilated. Whoever committed this callous crime is a violent and dangerous man. The nature of the victim’s injuries mean the killer must have been covered in blood.

‘We believe the man was killed elsewhere and the body dumped in the park sometime during the night.

‘We would urge anyone who was in the Crompton Gardens area of Temple Fields last night to come forward for the purposes of elimination. All information will be treated in the strictest confidence.’

Robbie Greaves, 28, the council worker who discovered the body, said, ‘I’d only just started work. It was just after half past eight. I was using my grab to pick up litter. When it touched the body, I thought at first it was a dead cat or dog. Then I lifted up the bushes and saw the body.

‘It was horrible. I threw up, then I ran to the nearest phone box. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life and I hope I never do again.’

Well, at least they’d got one thing correct. The body was killed somewhere else and dumped in Crompton Gardens. As for the rest of it … If this was any indication of the police’s skills, I didn’t think I’d have too much to worry about. That was fine by me. The last thing I wanted was to be arrested, since I’d already chosen Adam’s successor. Paul, I knew, was going to be different. This time, it wouldn’t have to end in death.