Mrs. Tennison sighed. The recreation of the dead girl’s movements meant nothing to her; she was a stranger.

Major and Mrs. Howard were sitting in front of their television set, holding hands tightly. The major had not wanted his wife to see the program, but she had quietly insisted. They had been told so little, they knew only the bare essentials about the death of their beloved daughter.

WPC Barbara Morgan was wearing a blond, shoulder-length wig and a jacket similar to the one worn by the real Karen on the night she had been murdered. The jacket had never been traced. The WPC also wore sheer black stockings, a leather mini-skirt and identical black ballet pumps. She actually carried Karen’s own portfolio containing her modeling pictures.

On screen, Barbara Morgan began acting out the last known movements of Karen Howard. Walking casually along Ladbroke Grove, she headed towards the Mini.

The major and his wife watched the last known movements of their daughter, the last hours of her life.

“She looks like her.” The major’s voice was very low and he gripped his wife’s hand more tightly.

“No,” Felicity said, “Karen was prettier.”

The tears streamed down her cheeks as WPC Morgan turned a corner into a side street, stopped by a white Mini and unlocked it. After putting the portfolio in the back she sat in the driving seat and tried to start the car, but the engine would not turn over.

Brian Hayes’s voice accompanied the film. “Having arrived for work at the film studio early in the morning, Karen had left her car lights on, and the battery was flat. A man working on the building site opposite was backing his truck into the street while Karen was trying to start her car. He stated that it was almost six forty-five.”

On the screen, the driver hopped down from his cab and crossed the road to offer his assistance.

“Got a problem, have you, love?”

“Yes, I think the battery’s flat.”

“You need jump leads, love. Sorry I can’t help, but hang on a mo.”

He called across to his mates, asking if they had any jump leads, and was told they had not. The driver suggested that he and his pals could give the car a push, but he had to return to his truck as he was blocking a van from leaving the building site.

“Thanks for your help, but I think I’d better call the AA.”

Brian Hayes’s voice again took up the story. “Karen locked her car and waved to the driver as he moved off. Then she walked back to the main road.”

George Marlow was standing directly in front of the television screen, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his face expressionless, as Moyra entered the room.

“Turn it off, George. What are you watching it for? Turn it off!”