It took four minutes for the police to arrive. Anton knows this because it was stated during the course of his trial. But that short interval seemed to stretch far, far beyond four minutes, and while he waited, he looked down at her – his Charlotte – and he tried to recognize within that twisted mass of unmoving flesh the woman he had known and loved for more than a decade. There seemed to be nothing of her in that room – no trace of her throaty laugh that was deep for a woman’s, no spark of humour or malice, both of which jumped quickly and easily into her gaze. No liquid sway of hips, no languid pull on a cigarette, no slow but steady smile to challenge or arouse. A woman who loved her clothes, a woman so stylish and carefully put together that the shamefully revealing disarray of her dress seemed like violence in itself. There was nothing of her left. Only ruined flesh and indignity, and as he gazed down at her, he felt sadness and anger start to coalesce, threatening to push up and explode through the wall of his shock.

By the time the police arrived, the muscles of his body had grown rigid, so great was the pressure of keeping those emotions at bay.

At least he can do that much for Leah now. Preserve the dignity of her flesh. The hem pulled down, his fingers trail along the smooth skin of her leg, tracing down to her ankles, the knob of bone above her shoe. One of those shoes has slipped off, and he runs his fingertip over the sole of her foot, but there is no answering twitch. He cradles her toes tenderly in his hand. We could have been happy, he thinks.

Fat Eric sat down and watched the rest of EastEnders after he’d murdered his mother. Salim had left his flatmate slumped on the floor, Scrabble tiles scattered around him, then gone to the nearest boozer for a stiff drink to quell the shake in his hands. Nigel hadn’t been there when his victim died, and that seemed to Anton the worst of all – an abandonment. He will not leave Leah. It’s clear to him what he must do and, in a way, he is horrified at the point he has reached. It’s like staring at his own self but from a distance, realizing the monstrous nature of his actions but helpless to stop himself.