Fiona wriggled backwards frantically, her wrists and her lower back burning fiercely against the carpet weave. If she could just get free of him and down the stairs, there could be someone in the street. Her hand was bleeding and her heart was trying to thump its way out of her chest. He lunged again, and this time she saw that he had a white pad in his gloved hand, which he crushed into her face. A number of smells mingled together, sending spikes of pain into her eyes.

‘Listen,’ he said, quietly, as though they were talking softly together in a library. He pressed his face close to her ear. ‘Listen. I’ve come to take you home.’

Later, when both the humans were gone, Byron crept out of the trainer cupboard, belly close to the floor. The house still smelled strongly of the stench that had frightened him in the first place, so he slunk downstairs to the front door, which smelled only of blood.

10

‘Are you sure you want to go through with this? You can still back out.’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Heather immediately. If she could get out of bed with this cloud of foreboding hanging over her, if she could get dressed and come here, all the way to this prison and to this anonymous little room without turning around, then she certainly wasn’t going to chicken out now.

DI Ben Parker looked at her gravely, as though trying to spot her doubts. He was about an inch or so taller than her, on the stocky side, with sandy hair and hazel eyes – not her type at all, generally, but there was an untidiness to him that was faintly endearing: the knot in his tie slightly skew-whiff, a sense that he had tried to make his hair do something impressive, then given up because he had other things to think about. ‘Are there any tips you can give me? Any rules? Should I avoid making eye contact or anything like that?’

‘He’s a serial killer, not Tom Cruise. We’re not monsters.’ He gave her a smile that was more eyebrows than teeth. ‘Just remember, you can leave at any time. He can’t reach you and you’re not on your own. And, you know, see if you can get him talking. But don’t provoke him. Don’t deliberately lead him towards conversations that you can’t handle. And if I tell you to leave the room, do so immediately.’

‘Right. Great. Anything else?’

‘You’ll be fine. If you’re ready …?’

Heather nodded, not quite trusting herself to say anything that wasn’t sarcastic. DI Parker led her into a small room with pastel yellow walls. Inside there was a pair of burly-looking prison guards, watching her with interest. And sitting at a wide grey table was Jack in the Green, the Red Wolf. Michael Reave.