'What? No. I mean, yes. Do you have any of his travel details? The flight bookings, the conference?'

'No,' she said anxiously, 'he does all of that himself. I can ask some of the other staff, see if they know,' she offered. 'Professor Phelan will probably know.'

'I'll ask him myself, if that's okay,' McEvoy said, trying to control information flow. 'Is he in?'

'She,' the secretary correct. 'Professor Margaret Phelan. She's in next door. She's just getting ready for a lecture, she's teaching at twelve.'

'I'll talk to her now, thanks for your help.'

'Just so you know, we'll probably let ourselves into Dr McCormack's office and have a quick look around, okay?' Cleary said.

'Is ... is everything, okay? Nothing's happened to him, has it?'

'No, no, everything's fine,' McEvoy said, trying to take control of the situation again. 'We'll let you know when we've finished in his office. Thanks for your time.' He headed out of the door, followed by Cleary.

'Jesus Christ!' he muttered. 'He's left the feckin' country.' He took two paces down the corridor and knocked on Margaret Phelan's door.

'Yes, hello?'

He entered the office.

An elegantly dressed woman in her mid-to-late fifties was standing behind a desk, leaning down to peer at a flat-screen monitor. She glanced over at him. 'What can I do for you? This will have to be quick as I need to get over to the other campus.'

'Detective Superintendent McEvoy. I was hoping to be able to speak to Andrew McCormack; the secretary said he was at a conference in the US. You don't happen to know which do you?'

'Is he okay?' she said, straightening up, brushing her shoulder-length, grey hair off her face.

'I've no idea, but I need to track him down so I can follow up on something.'

'Is this about David? It was disgraceful what happened to him,' she said without sincerity, pulling a coy smile, holding his gaze. 'It was a terrible shock.'

He nodded and shifted his gait, uncomfortable with her demeanor. 'Do you know which conference he was going to?'

'The New England Political Science Association's Annual Meeting in Providence, Rhode Island. He's on the Association's committee. He goes every year end of April, early May.'

'Okay, thanks. One other thing. Was Dr McCormack promoted recently?'

'Promoted? No.' She stuffed something into her bag, hoisted it up on her shoulder and rounded the desk. 'He applied for senior lecturer, but didn't make it. He's a high flyer but it's a little early. Next year or the year after. A couple more books and a bit of research money and two or three years after that he should make professor. Fast in our system.'

'Right. Right, okay. You've been most helpful.'

'No problem. Well, if you'll excuse me, Superintendent, I have to run.' She opened the door and held it open for him to pass through. She closed it behind her and headed off, ignoring Cleary and Plunkett.

They watched her go, her hips swinging on low heels.

'Phew,' Plunkett said waving the air, 'she must have had a bath in that perfume.'

'What perfume?' McEvoy asked.

'Just be thankful you've got that cold. Where he is?'

'Providence, Rhode Island.'

'Let's take a look at his office,' Cleary said, pulling a huge bunch of keys from his jacket pocket heading towards McCormack's room.

The office was neat and tidy, the desk clear. Several houseplants were arranged along a window ledge that ran the width of the room.

Cleary sat at the desk and played with the locked drawers, trying to tease them open. 'I'll talk to one of the lads, see if he has anything to get these open with,' he said heading for the door. 'Also these.' He slapped the top of the filing cabinet nearest the door.

McEvoy worked his way round the room slowly, trying to get a measure of the man. Nothing in particular leapt out at him. He pulled his mobile from his pocket.

'Roche.'

'It's Colm,' he said, downbeat. 'He's not here. According to his head of department he's in Providence, Rhode Island. She said he left at the weekend. If he went before Saturday evening, then he's in the clear.'

'Shit! I bet he flew out yesterday probably flew Aer Lingus direct to Boston. I'll get someone to check with the airports. I'll also talk to Bishop. If he's in the US then we'll need to alert the authorities there.'

McEvoy let out a long breath. 'Jesus, what a mess. I'll find out whether he turned up for this conference or not. He might be carrying on as normal, seeing whether he's got away with it.'

'Good idea. His house looks clean by the way. Nothing obvious linked to any of the victims. I've just let the crime scene people in. It seems there are plenty of samples for DNA and they're making that a priority. We should know whether it matches the samples from Glencree and Rathmoylan by late this afternoon. And it looks like he lived alone only men's clothes in the wardrobes and a single toothbrush in the bathroom.'

'We also need someone to talk to Dermot Brady,' McEvoy suggested, 'see if he knows McCormack and whether he knows of any link between him and Laura Schmidt.'

'I'll find someone to do that. Right, I'll let you get on with it then. I'll get speak to you soon as I hear anything.'

'Thanks.' McEvoy slipped the phone back into his pocket and massaged his temples.

If McCormack was The Raven then he had taken flight. He'd spent several years studying in the U.S. so it was familiar territory. There were thousands of illegal Irish there, plus God knows how many millions from other countries. If they could operate below the radar of the authorities then so could McCormack. He'd slip into the underworld, buy himself a new identity, and start a new life. And even if they did catch him, there would be the rigmarole of extradition. It might be years before he saw an Irish court, especially if he had dual citizenship, which was a strong possibility.

Barney Plunkett knocked on the door and entered along with Kathy Jacobs.

McEvoy blew his nose and glanced over at them with sadness in his eyes. 'I think the bastard might have got clean away. While we were messing about going round the various murder sites he was sat on a plane to Boston.' He scratched at his head. 'Barney, I need you to find out if McCormack actually turned up at that feckin' conference. The secretary has the details.'

'I'm on it.' Plunkett hurried from the room.

'You were right,' McEvoy said to Jacobs. 'He was a high flyer and he'd been turned down for promotion. According to the head of department he'd have been promoted next year or the year after. Might have gone up to professor a couple of years after that.'

'He was impatient. He was probably angry that someone like Hennessey, someone less brilliant than him, got promoted instead.'

'So he decides to kill him?'

'Some people have difficulty judging perceived crimes and their appropriate punishment,' Jacobs explained. 'McCormack blamed Hennessey rather than the promotion panel, and he felt the crime demanded the ultimate punishment. He's developed some kind of pronounced psychosis. He's living in a different reality to you and me.'

'Jesus.' McEvoy turned and stared out of the window, his mind unable to pull coherent thoughts together.

Kathy Jacobs slipped in behind the desk and sat down. 'Is it okay if I take a look at this?' she said, pointing at McCormack's computer.

A young man in an Arctic Monkeys t-shirt and ripped jeans stood up and moved out of the way. 'I've logged on as the administrator. Once you've finished, just shut it down or give me a call.' He wrote a four-digit number on a sticky note and placed it on the desk.

'Thanks,' McEvoy said absently, Jacobs sliding into the vacated seat.

Jacobs glanced down the list of folders, McEvoy watching over her shoulder. 'Conferences', 'Current Books', 'Future', 'Grants', 'Old Books', 'Papers', 'Projects', 'References', 'Teaching', 'Website'.

She clicked on 'Current Books.' There were four folders in the new list, the third of which was entitled The Rule Book. She opened the folder. There were several files listed: Chapters 1 to 8, 'Card 1', 'Card 2', 'Oughterard', 'Phoenix Park', 'Addresses'.

She clicked on 'Chapter 1'. The Word program loaded and the first chapter of The Rule Book appeared.

'Well, that's any doubt dispelled,' she said quietly.

'Open Chapter 8,' McEvoy instructed. 'We never received a Chapter 8.'

She opened the chapter.

The Rules

Chapter Eight: Postscript.

"Even experienced killers make mistakes."

ALWAYS FOLLOW ALL THE RULES.

Laura or David or Samantha?

Until next time ...

'Jesus,' McEvoy muttered. 'Who the hell is Samantha?'

'I don't know. His partner?' Jacobs hazarded. 'Whoever it is, he knew he'd taken too much of a chance with Laura and David,' she said, stating the obvious. 'His first two rules were "choose a victim at random" and "have no prior interaction with them before the kill." He broke both of them. The first two murders were comfort kills known quantities while he became more confident.'

'Plus he was leaving notes,' McEvoy observed, massaging his forehead. 'He thought he could outwit his own logic.'

'He nearly did. Except for Karen and the student who saw him with Laura we'd be none the wiser.'

'We'd have got him eventually,' McEvoy said without conviction. 'Something would have turned up.'

'Samantha probably,' said Jacobs sardonically. 'And you don't have him yet. You just know who he is.'

'I better ring Paul Roche.' McEvoy pulled his phone from his pocket. '

It was answered on the fifth ring. 'Roche.'

'It's Colm. We've managed to get onto his computer. There's a Chapter Eight there. It's a postscript. He lists three names Laura, David and Samantha. We've no idea who Samantha is, but he knew he'd messed up the US was his insurance policy.'

'He's not in the US,' Roche said. 'I was just about to ring you, the transport people have come back to me. He'd booked a return ticket to Boston, flying out yesterday at 11.45, only he didn't show up. There's no record of him flying anywhere else in the last two weeks from any airport in Ireland or the UK or leaving through any port.'

'He must have bottled it,' McEvoy said. 'He didn't like the idea of being on a plane for seven or eight hours not knowing if he'd be greeted by police at the other end. What did Bishop say?'

'He's about to announce a full-scale manhunt, the works. He doesn't care whether McCormack's innocent or guilty, he wants him apprehended. He's organising an emergency press conference for one o'clock.'

'Is that a good idea?' McEvoy said, his determination fading. 'We'll lose any element of surprise.'

'Half the media will already know who we're looking for by now. They'll have been tipped off by God knows how many people. Besides, we've no idea where the hell he is. I've heard back from Brady as well,' Roche said, changing tack. 'He knows McCormack, but only met him once or twice. He never saw him with Laura. Look, I need to go. I'll be out there shortly, okay?'

McEvoy slipped the phone into his pocket and stared out of the window again, listening to the tapping of Jacobs' fingernails on the keyboard.

After a short while, he turned to face her. 'After the O'Connell Street murder he was last seen heading towards Phibsborough Road. That's where Aoife whatshername saw him with Laura. The squat Karen lives in is not far from there either. We need to find out if he has a place there,' he said, heading for the door, wanting to do something rather than hang around killing time. 'And we need to find out who the hell Samantha is.'

McEvoy turned back onto Phibsborough Road and started heading back towards the North Circular Road. He glanced at the clock 1.09. 'This is hopeless,' he muttered, once again downbeat, knowing that they were driving round aimlessly, looking for a needle in a haystack. 'If he's got any sense, he'd be long gone.'

'Sense is something he probably hasn't got a lot of right now,' Jacobs replied, staring out at the pavement.

McEvoy snatched at the phone before it rang a second time. 'Yes?'

'It's Barney. I've finally found someone who knows who Samantha is. McCormack kept his private life private. Her name is Samantha Evans. She's a postdoctoral researcher in Trinity. She lives in a new apartment block on Goldsmith's Road near to the Mater. I don't know the name of the apartment block or her apartment number, but I'm going to see if I can get a full address out of Trinity.'

'Okay, right. Call for backup will you, we'll meet them there.'

'Don't do anything stupid, Colm,' Plunkett warned.

'Just order the feckin' backup,' McEvoy said testily, ending the call. 'Where the hell's Goldsmith's Road,' he muttered, turning right onto the North Circular Road.

He'd become addicted to the news since leaving the airport. He had only left the apartment once to buy the daily newspapers. He'd barely left the sofa. He'd simply sat in front of the flat-screen television and stared at it hypnotically. The Raven and his killing spree was still the headline news hours and hours of broadcast time had been devoted to analysing his work, speculating on his personality, his motivation, his state of mind, his identity. It was all just hot air and hokum.

The image swapped from a smarmy looking news reader to that of a dishevelled and exhausted McEvoy. The superintendent appeared as a ghost ashen and hollow. Barely ten seconds into the report it was cut short and the news reader re-appeared looking harried.

'We've just received a statement issued by the Irish police,' he said in a clipped, English accent, looking down at his notes. 'They are seeking urgently to talk to Dr Andrew McCormack of the National University of Ireland, Maynooth.'

His picture from the university's website appeared in the top right of the screen.

'If anyone knows his present location or has seen him in the past two weeks they are to contact the An Garda Siochana immediately on their confidential hotline, 1800 666 111. Under no circumstances are members of the public to approach him. To repeat, An Garda Siochana, the Irish police, are seeking the whereabouts of ...'

He slipped into the bedroom and hastily applied his disguise, then dashed into the hallway and collected his pre-prepared bag. It was time to disappear; to slip into the shadows. It wouldn't take them long to link him to Sam and to head to the apartment. They might already be on their way. He should have left the country when he had the chance it had been madness to stay in the apartment. He'd known that, but he'd been convinced he had all the time in the world time for the media and police frenzy to die down a little; time to continue his old life.

He closed the door on his old life and headed for the stairwell. It must have been betrayal for them to find him so fast. It couldn't have been the prior connection to Laura or David that would have taken them weeks to piece together, if they'd managed to piece it together at all, and they didn't yet know about Samantha. It had to have been Laura's drug-addled friend. It couldn't be anyone else. She must have been able to identify him somehow probably sold him out for the price of a quick fix.

He felt his fury starting to rise. Well she knew the consequences. She knew the price she would pay for such a betrayal; her betrayal of Laura. Laura, who willingly opened her mouth and swallowed the sword. Laura, who'd announced his book to the world.

At least now people now knew. Knew he was The Raven. Knew that if he'd followed all the rules he would still be anonymous. Knew and feared the genius that was Andrew McCormack. And while he lay low and bided his time they would continue to fear him, dreading the day he would decide to spread his wings again.

There was only one new apartment block on Goldsmith's Road. Two redbrick houses had been demolished from the row to make way for a new three-storey apartment block that stretched back along what had been sizeable gardens. McEvoy pulled to a stop on the road, double-parking, and stared across at the building, a metal frame climbing the outside, providing each apartment with a small balcony. A laneway to the side led to car parking spaces behind. The block appeared totally out of place. He pushed open his door.

'I thought we were waiting for backup,' Jacobs said.