‘You said you never planned on killing Anna. But you did. How did you get to her?’

‘Pure chance,’ he admits. ‘When I formed my plan, I thought any blonde would do. I could get chatting to one in a bar, drug her and go through with my little scheme. But social media came through for me.’

The confusion must show on my face.

‘She put a picture on Instagram. Some inane photograph of a smoothie with the hashtag GoodToBeHome. Why people feel the need to share every little detail of their life is beyond me. Anyway, I know the shop and to be fair to her, they do make fantastic smoothies. It was then I figured then that she was up north. When we got to the bar, Reuben ordered some drinks and went to the toilet but left his phone on the table. I sent her a message from Reuben’s phone, inviting her down to Limas, and deleted the evidence. The only thing that could screw it all up was if she asked him why he had texted her. Thankfully, British-ness prevailed and she engaged in polite chit-chat long enough for me to slip some Rohypnol into her drink.’

‘But why her?’ I ask. ‘She didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘I agree,’ he replies. ‘But if I’d used some local girl, the news would’ve stayed local. Anna was my ticket to international exposure. People care so much more about famous people because they think they know them. Even the locals don’t care that much if one of their own has been killed. They’re simply a name on the front of a newspaper for a day, then they are history. Forgotten about.’

‘And when you staged your kidnapping, was that to get the press talking too?’

‘Bang on,’ he says. ‘But it didn’t work, because you didn’t release the details to the media. I thought there would be a hastily arranged press conference with my face plastered all over it. The poor author next to die unless the public have any information on his whereabouts. Then, when I saw that Rory had been arrested, I knew the time had come to blow the story open and cement my name into history.’

He glances past me at the unmoving body in the chair.

‘Speaking of which,’ he says. ‘Let’s kill your boyfriend.’

He takes a couple of steps towards Tom and I try to reason with him, to assure him that his final days can be made pain-free and peaceful. That he doesn’t need to kill anyone else.

A well-placed kick to my side knocks the wind out of me and leaves me gasping for air.

‘You’re wrong,’ he shouts, ‘if I don’t kill both of you, my final days will be spent in a jail cell. That isn’t happening. No, we’re all going to die here tonight. Starting with him,’ he says, pointing the gun at Tom.

He steps past me and whilst his attention is on Tom, I feel around on the floor behind me for anything I could use as a weapon, though all I can locate is a rusted bolt. As Ed raises the gun to Tom’s head, I throw the bolt towards the area behind them.