He was always amazed at how easy it was. Part of that was down to him of course, and it was no more than common sense; the thorough preparations, the thought he put into it. The care taken each and every time and the refusal to get lazy. Victims had never been hard to find, quite the opposite, but still, each night's work needed to be treated with caution. Best laid plans and all that. He was no expert when it came to forensics, but he knew enough to avoid leaving any sorts of traces. The gloves were thicker than he would have liked, but that couldn't be helped. It took away some of the feeling at the end, which was a shame, but he wasn't going to risk getting scratched, was he? Enough feeling, though. There was always enough, and each time he could feel things starting to . . . even out inside him. A lifting, of sorts. Funny old word, but it felt right. Excerpted from The Killing Habit by Mark Billingham All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.