His face fell as he stopped his impulsive jig. ‘Yes, Mother, yes, it’s simple enough. The photos’ development will take me an hour at most, nothing more. And I plan to make good use of them as soon as they’ve had sufficient time to dry. They’ll be the next nail in the bitch mother’s psychological coffin. I cannot wait; it will tear what little’s left of her peace of mind to shreds.’ He laughed, close to hysteria. ‘You said, be the best sadist I can be. Well, that’s precisely what I’m doing. My plans are coming to fruition better than I could ever have hoped. Stand back and admire my accomplishments, Mother. Watch the bitch crash and burn.’

28

Heath was busy in his deceased father’s darkroom, developing large, black and white photos of Lottie imprisoned behind the steel bars, when he heard a sharp, rapid knocking on his front door. Following a shower he was wearing nothing but a blood-red silk dressing gown, a garment bought by his father years before on one of his regular solo visits to the Far East in pursuit of his deviant interests. It was an item of clothing of which Heath was fond of, despite its associations with a man he despised.

Heath swore crudely as the caller knocked again. He shuffled from one barefoot to the other, hoping for silence, but there it was again, bang, the sound of intrusion as if to taunt him at a most inconvenient time.

‘He’s not going to go away, you know. You should have worked that out by now.’

‘Do you have to interfere again, Mother? I know what I’m doing. Just leave me alone.’

‘I told you to move her. I told you. I told you. But would you listen? No, you always think you know best. You saw the police car in the street. You saw the plain clothes pig getting out in his creased suit and shoes in need of polish. He’s snooping, Henry. He’s sticking his piggy snout in. Who else would it be knocking on your door at this time of day?’

Heath froze as the caller knocked again, harder this time, the sound louder, even in the cellar, which didn’t have the benefit of the attic’s soundproofing. ‘Be quiet, Mother, as quiet as a mouse. He may go away if he thinks we’re out.’

She shook her head somewhere in the darkness. ‘Answer the door, Henry, there’s a good boy. He’ll only come back. They always come back. You’ll have to see him sometime. Best get it over with, don’t you think?’

‘What if he knows something?’

‘There’s only one way to find out. Get up those stairs and answer the door.’

Lewis peered through the brass letterbox, assuming the house was empty as most others had been. He was preparing to walk away when he suddenly saw wet footprints on the hall tiles. He pushed the letterbox open, holding it wide and shouting ‘Police’, at the top of his abrupt voice. Within seconds he saw a man wearing a silk kimono walking down the hallway towards him. The man opened the front door reticently with the security chain still attached.