I decide that Tom’s safety is paramount. I glance out one more time, before launching myself out of the doorway and sprinting towards Tom. I half expect to be taken down in a haze of bullets, though none are forthcoming and I reach Tom safely, who I now realise is sitting in the exact spot where Reuben’s life was ended.

I take Tom’s head in my hands and stroke his cheeks, his stubble rough against my fingertips. I check for a pulse and find one easily. Apart from being unconscious and having a slightly swollen, bruised eye, he doesn’t seem to be badly hurt.

‘Tom, wake up,’ I plead, my voice echoing around the vast space. ‘He’s going to kill us both.’

‘Bingo!’ a voice shouts, from the top of the steps.

I instinctively raise my gun, though I can’t see the source of the noise.

‘Now,’ he continues from his vantage point, ‘we both know that you having a gun is not going to work. So, slowly, and I do mean slowly, put the safety on and throw it towards the bottom of the steps. Then get down on your knees.’

I rack my brains for another option, though my train of thought is quickly interrupted by a gunshot aimed close to Tom’s head. It’s a threat, but enough of one to remind me that he is capable of murder.

The bullet causes broken glass to cascade from one of the windows behind me.

‘Do it, now!’ he bellows, before succumbing to a coughing fit.

I follow his instructions and toss my only weapon in the direction of the steps. It bounces off the bottom step and the jarring sound of metal on metal fills the room. I get on my knees and put my hands behind my head.

Footsteps sound on the steps. His feet appear, followed by the rest of his body. Finally, I am staring Ed in the face.

He is thinner than last time we met, his skin seemingly retreating into his body as his bones venture in the opposite direction. His dark wig, which is slightly askew, accentuates the paleness of his skin. He points his own gun at me with a shaking hand.

‘How nice of you to join us,’ he jeers. He steps onto the cold floor and takes small steps towards me, gun still raised.

‘Why here?’ I ask him.

He smiles an ugly smile.

‘Well, my first two kills were exactly as I’d written them; the blonde bombshell actress splayed across the ice, throat slit and the important business man, film producer Jay, clubbed to death with a hammer. And then you came a-calling,’ he says, ‘and I knew where I was going to kill my best friend. You see, I recognised you straight away, the brave police officer who almost died in the derelict warehouse. I knew that if you saw the video of Reuben,’ he mimics a noose tightening around his neck, ‘you’d know exactly where to find his body and we’d all end up here.’