Victoria watched her victims from the best view that she could. She knew this, as she had planned it that way. She had designed it to the precise millimetre, enabling her to gauge the advantage she knew she would need. Full of rage, Victoria Selby needed to satisfy her need, her need that the unworthy were taken off this Planet. There was no cliché that a normal serial killer can attach to themselves to justify why she did these things. No boyfriends that beat her, no bullying that was bad enough for her to resent anyone in particular. She had not been subjected to any religion; that would force her to obey a fictitious lord who would punish you if you did anything bad to people, but then also punish you for doing good.Victoria just loved the feeling of getting to know someone followed by viciously taking their life force away so she could feel superior to them. She aspired to be the greatest predator that ever lived.Victoria would prevail over everybody else, no matter who they were. This was her orgasm and she wanted to keep the feeling going forever.On the walls of a room in the Police Station, hung by multi coloured tacks were over a hundred photographs of Victoria’s kills. From the very first kill where it had almost killed her, right up to the Duckerton’s. There was also a web of lines which tried, in its attempts, to puzzle things together that made no sense. The stress of how these murders were connected made DI Atkinson almost bald. He and his ramshackle bunch of colleagues were not the best people to search for a killer like Victoria, but then she believed that no-one could ever outwit her. She was wrong, oh boy was she wrong.