Now it was time to show the world.

Heath placed the point of the nail in the bottom right-hand corner of the windowpane before striking the top with a single sharp blow of the hammer. The double-glazed unit shattered immediately, allowing him to reach through the gap, turn the handle and open the white plastic frame wide. He returned both the hammer and nail to his backpack before glancing behind him.

Was that the sound of someone in an adjoining garden? He flinched.

He listened intently, straining his ears, waiting until reassured by the silence, before scrambling through the open frame head first, and then lowering himself to the kitchen floor with a muted call of triumph. He drank water at the tap, strode across the red-tiled kitchen, through the comfortably furnished lounge, and into the hallway.

Heath laughed on seeing a twelve-by-eight-inch framed colour photo of Lottie’s smiling face hanging on the wall, in pride of place next to the door. He studied the picture for a few seconds, thinking how different his captive now looked, without that yellow hair, and behind the bars. He edged a few inches closer to the photo and then repeatedly spat on the glass, masking the image in saliva, before climbing the stairs.

Heath went straight to Lottie’s room. He congratulated himself on his success as he walked through the door. It was obviously the brat’s room, being so typical of the style chosen by, or for, any number of little girls of her age, with its pink bedclothes, sparkling unicorn wallpaper, and age and gender-specific toys.

Heath unzipped his black corduroy trousers and emptied his bursting bladder onto the bed, spraying yellow urine over almost every inch of the summer quilt and feather pillow, before eventually refastening his trousers with a grin. He stood back, admiring his work with a look of unbridled satisfaction. The experience wasn’t quite orgasmic, but it wasn’t far off, as adrenaline flooded his body and his emotions danced. He pictured Megan’s reaction to seeing for the first time the results of his efforts. He imagined her disgust, her horror, her rage and despair. His cock swelled, pressing against the tight cloth of his pants, as hard as he’d ever been.

He briefly considered unfastening his trousers for a second time and masturbating, right there and then, but what if his mother saw? She’d mock him for his lack of focus. Criticise him for his failure to concentrate on the task at hand. And so he refocused, fixating on what he was there to achieve. Distractions weren’t helpful, whatever the potential physical pay-off, not at such a critical juncture. Megan’s psychological destruction was everything. It’s what he lived for.

Heath searched three dressing table drawers and then a white-painted wardrobe, gathering several items of Lottie’s clothing, which he thought suited his purpose. Yes, they’d be ideal, absolutely ideal. His actions were inspired. They were works of unbridled genius to be applauded, worthy of note in the annals of criminal history. His oh so critical mother had been wrong all along.