I’m not sure what makes me turn to look in the window of the antique shop next door to Molly’s. But I see it. Propped in the corner of the window by the door, a horrifying contrast to the china teapots and vases, fob watches and red brandy glasses: the mask.

The ground moves beneath me, and my legs give way as everything spins.

The mask.

I open my mouth to cry out, unsure if I say the words out loud, or in my head. It’s the mask the killer wore.

*

The next thing I know I’m lying on my back on the pavement with something soft under my head. A woman crouches down beside me; others look on, their faces full of concern.

‘I’m fine,’ I say, attempting to pull myself up to a sitting position, and despite feeling weak and woozy, I glance over my shoulder at the antique shop. There’s no mask in the window. Had I imagined it?

‘We’ve called an ambulance,’ the woman says. ‘Lie back down, sweetie. Everything’s going to be OK.’

*

Once I’ve convinced paramedics I fainted due to not eating, and they’ve checked me over, and ordered me to eat something before I attempt to cycle home, I open the door to the antique shop. A bell rings out. ‘Hello!’

Inside, the air is musty, and high shelves are crammed with ornaments, jewellery, and pictures from past lives. I make my way towards the back of the shop to where a man in his forties is doing a crossword puzzle in a folded newspaper. He doesn’t look up. ‘Strange – connected to death, seven letters, beginning with “M”.’

‘Macabre?’

‘Spot on!’ He scribbles the word, and jolts his face upwards. ‘Can I help?’

‘There was a mask in the window a little while ago. I wondered if you remember who brought it in, or maybe who bought it?’

He screws up his nose. ‘Do you mean the rather lovely Chinese opera mask?’ He points to the wall, where a Chinese mask with a creepy smile hangs.

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘This was a modern mask of a young boy’s face, made of plastic.’

His forehead furrows. ‘I’m afraid we only sell antiques. You must be mistaken.’

‘Maybe.’ Had I imagined it? ‘Has anyone been in here in the last half an hour?’

‘Only a man picking up a 1950s sewing machine, I’d put by for him. Are you OK? You seem a little agitated.’

‘And that’s it. Nobody else. Nothing?’ I’m lost for words, and turn to leave.

‘Hang on!’ he says. ‘Now I think about it the bell above the door rang out a couple of times this morning, but whoever it was must have changed their mind – never came in.’

‘So they could have put a mask in your window?’