‘Nope, a new recipe I saw in the paper. Banana pancakes! Less than 150 calories a serving. One banana and two eggs, with some berries on top.’

‘Sounds delicious,’ he said, a tad dubiously.

‘Well, as we’re having a blow-out fish and chips lunch on the pier, I thought a light breakfast made sense.’

‘Anything I can do?’

She touched his face tenderly with one hand. ‘Yes, have a shower and be prepared for a taste sensation!’

‘I’m ravenous!’

He was about to head upstairs when a face he recognized appeared on the television screen. A pensive, good-looking man in his thirties, with dark, wavy hair and a side parting, wearing a beige jacket and open-neck shirt. Chin resting on his hand. A clipped American accent.

He knew that face and not in a good way.

Born Theodore Robert Cowell, the man had at some point early in his life changed his last name to Bundy. A former law student, Ted Bundy had become America’s most notorious ever serial killer.

Why was his eleven-year-old son watching this, and looking so absorbed? And why was Cleo letting him, or had she not noticed?

He gave her a look and pointed at the screen. She gave him an I know shrug back.

‘Enjoying the programme, Bruno?’ he asked.

His son nodded. ‘This guy’s ace! I mean, a douche bag, but ace!’

‘Really?’ The boy’s enthusiasm worried him.

‘Sure, like he confessed to thirty victims on his deathbed, but the FBI detective, Bill Hagmaier, reckons his total could be loads more – isn’t that awesome?’

‘Awesome? Why do you think that, Bruno?’

‘It’s – like – sick!’

The more time he spent with his son, the more Roy Grace thought the boy’s moral compass was a little skewed. But at the same time, he was aware he needed to tread carefully to avoid further alienating the boy. ‘What about all the victims? And their families?’

Without taking his eyes from the screen, Bruno said, ‘You can choose to be a victim, or not. It’s Darwinian, yes?’

‘Darwinian?’ Grace frowned.

‘Ted Bundy was an innocent victim of natural selection. Don’t you agree?’

Grace was struggling to get his head around the boy’s logic. ‘Want to tell me how you arrive at that conclusion, Bruno?’

‘Aren’t we all prisoners of our genes?’ he said, again without turning from the screen. ‘Don’t you think so, Papa?’

‘No, I don’t, Bruno. We are all born with the capacity to do evil, but whether we do or not is a choice we make – a conscious choice.’

Bruno shook his head. ‘That’s not what Mama told me.’

Grace glanced at Cleo, who was listening with interest. ‘What did your mother tell you?’ he asked.

‘That sometimes the choices are already made for us.’

‘And have any choices already been made for you, Bruno?’