For now, though, she was safe. As soon as she got back she had started to search for somewhere to live. There was an internet list of up-and-coming villages; she had picked Stockton Heath, which was halfway up the list at number five. It was as good a place as any, so she viewed a few houses and bought the one that was available soonest.

She lit a fire in the fire pit and watched the flames catch on the kindling. When it was burning well, she laid a pair of logs on top and watched until they were glowing red.

She reached into her day pack and took out her two Australian passports. She had travelled as Alice Barnes – she didn’t want any trace of Brenda Yates travelling through Europe. Brenda had disappeared after visiting Ambleside in July.

Although the real Brenda Yates was buried in a forest outside Perth. She had needed her identity to get out of Australia.

She could never have travelled as Andrea Petersen. There were too many people looking for her.

She opened the first passport. Poor Brenda Yates. With her hair dyed blonde and a cap on, Andrea had been able to pass as her, which was why she had been killed. For no other reason than that.

She had kept them both in case she ever needed them, but it was too risky to keep them. She was Alice Barnes now.

She tore the pages from Brenda Yates’s passport and dropped them into the flames. Then she took Andrea Petersen’s and did the same. The flames curled around the pages, turning them to ash.

The next day she started looking for jobs. A local newspaper was advertising a journalist internship; it was perfect. Alice had wanted to go into journalism, so it fit with her back story, and it was the kind of job that would give her the freedom she was going to need.

She had no intention of getting an office job; she needed reasons to be on the move, reasons to be in different places, researching stories.

Because the hunger was still there. It was greater than ever. She dreamed at night of picking up some boy or girl, man or woman, offering them a ride, an innocent young woman doing them a favour.

She dreamed of the anticipation as they climbed into the car. Dreamed of the look on their face as they saw the hammer and understood – at the last second – that their life was over.

She would have to do it soon. Find someone nobody would miss. Someone from the streets.

God, she needed it.

Maybe even that night.

That night.

Now the thought was there she couldn’t fight the urge. She couldn’t stop it.

But first, she had to apply for the job. She started to write her letter.

I am a graduate of Nottingham University, with a first-class honours degree in English.