Irish accent. Robert O’Brien. The charming politician with the twinkling eyes that had reminded her of Ed. The heat in the kitchen was intolerable, especially with his body pressed against her and the thick stink of his expensive cologne clogging the air. The cologne, she recognised it now. It was why she thought she’d been with him recently. She’d smelled it as he’d walked past her. The same smell she’d got inside the block of flats in Stockwell. Panic flared inside her. He’d killed Michael Holden. And now he was going to do the same thing to her.

Pressing his hand into the back of her head, he shoved her face down onto the worktop. Behind her, she could feel him moving. For one terrible moment, she thought he was going to rape her.

There was a knife rack just in front of her face. She saw his hand wrap around one of the knives. The silver blade glinted in the sunlight as he pulled it towards her face. Cold metal against her cheek. The blade of the knife, right beneath her left eye.

‘If you try anything,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll cut your eye out. Is that clear?’

She tried to nod her head but he was holding it too tight.

‘Is that clear?’ he repeated, louder this time.

‘Yes,’ she managed. ‘I won’t try anything. I swear.’

She could feel his breath, hot against the side of her face. He pressed the blade deeper, cutting the skin. Warm blood trickled down her cheek. Her stomach contracted.

He pulled her up by the hair and pushed her through the kitchen towards the garden. A shock of cold air hit her as he opened the door. Outside, across the patio, down the steps, onto the grass. Towards the ice house.

Dee screamed, her body jerking and struggling against him.

‘I told you to shut up.’

The tip of the blade pierced her skin again. More blood. She tried to pull her head back, but he had her in a grip so tight it was impossible to move. Impossible to do anything except allow herself to be forced forward towards the stone igloo.

‘Please,’ she begged, too scared to do anything now except plead for her life. ‘Don’t do this. The police know where I am. I called them right after you left. They’re on their way. They know you killed Michael. You were seen at the flats that morning. You won’t get away with this.’

‘Bullshit.’

They were at the entrance to the ice house now. The door was open. He must have opened it when he saw her arriving at the house. A black gaping darkness lay in front of her. Every fibre in her body was protesting at having to go in there.

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to do this.’