The doorbell rang just as Heather was finishing typing up her notes from the last few days. Standing up, she moved down the hallway as quietly as she could, her eyes rooted to the panel of warped glass in the centre of the door. There was a figure standing there, and she was fairly sure it wasn’t Lillian. Feeling half foolish and half sick, she snatched up a heavy wooden ornament from the side table and, holding it to one side, peered through the peephole. The figure outside shifted, and she caught sight of messy sandy hair and an unbuttoned collar.

‘DI Parker?’

He looked pained as she opened the door, as though he’d been half hoping she wasn’t home. Smiling sheepishly, he held up a bottle of wine.

‘I know. This is all kinds of wrong. But it’s been a rough day and …’ He shrugged. ‘If I tell you I looked up your mum’s address now, will that save you throwing me out later?’

‘Come in.’ Heather stepped to one side, settling the wooden ornament back down on the side table as she did. ‘You’re bloody lucky, as I ordered takeaway about twenty minutes ago and I habitually order enough for six people. Can you eat three people’s worth of Chinese food?’

‘I’d consider it an honour and a challenge.’

Later, when the Chinese food was largely demolished and they had started their second bottle of wine, the conversation had moved inevitably back to the Red Wolf copycat. Parker threw his disposable chopsticks into the plastic carton.

‘Another body today. I didn’t tell you, but …’ He shrugged. ‘This is escalating. The original murders took place over the course of several years, but this bastard? Four women in what? Just over a month? The brass are sweating bullets over it.’

Heather shifted in her seat, blinking rapidly. They were on the sofa, having dragged the coffee table over to put the dishes on, and it was very tempting to slip into the doziness summoned by a stomach full of noodles, but Parker was mildly drunk and suddenly talkative.

‘Was she … the same as Elizabeth Bunyon? And Fiona Graham?’