Kathy span on her heel, her heart was racing. She knew Phillip was not responsible for the window. It had been years since he could reach the pantry without help.

Someone had broken in.

But who? And what for?

Only one man alive knew the answer to that question.

His pale eyes watched her, reading her expression for some hint as to what she would do next. Would she run? Or would she look for the man who had loyally employed her for who knows how long?

She would never know how important this choice would be to her continued existence. Or how lucky she was that loyalty won out.

A smile grew as he watched the housekeeper steel herself to do the right thing. But it grew alone. His pale eyes remained fixed as he watched her take a final deep breath to calm her nerves before starting up the stairs.

The first stair creaked as she took a faltering step into the unknown. The second time it had done so in six hours. Her observer avoided it as he climbed the steps behind her.

Whatever he decided to do in the next minutes, she would have no warning of his presence.

He hung back, watching silently. His mind was made up. Her reaction would be everything. The right scream. The right hysteria. That was what he wanted. That was what would satisfy him. If she gave him that then she would live. If she did not . . . well, then her fate was in her own hands.

Kathy Gray counted herself lucky for many things. But she would never know that her luckiest moment was walking into Phillip Longman’s bedroom and screaming for all she was worth.

FOUR

The first two police officers had arrived in less than ten minutes and had gone straight to Phillip Longman’s bedroom. One had thrown up on the spot. The other had called in the carnage that had awaited them.

The same horror would greet a stream of police personnel over the next thirty minutes. Each was a hardened professional, but still a surprising number were reacquainted with their breakfasts at the sight.

This was no ordinary murder scene.

‘Who’s been cleaning this place?’ Detective Chief Inspector Joelle Levy could smell bleach as she climbed the stairs towards Longman’s room. ‘Someone’s been disinfecting.’

‘No, ma’am.’ The answer came from Police Constable David Wright, who had been one of the first two officers on the scene. The one with the stronger stomach. ‘That smell was strong when we got here.’

Levy gave Wright a quizzical look.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes, ma’am. It was the first thing I noticed. You know, before we went in.’

Might make this interesting, Levy thought.

They continued to the top of the stairs and along the hallway, passing two open doors. Inside each was an immaculate, seemingly untouched bedroom. They suggested diligent housekeeping and a shortage of overnight guests.

The third room said no such thing. Inside it was a hive of activity, filling the air like an electric charge. Here the smell of bleach – now combined with a distinct hint of vomit – grew stronger.