Wynne paused. It didn’t make sense. ‘The post doesn’t come until later,’ she said.

‘It was hand delivered.’

Wynne tensed. ‘Hand delivered?’

‘Yes. He – or she – was here. At the house.’

‘Are your doors and windows secured?’ Wynne said.

‘I think so.’

‘Make sure they are. I’ll have an officer there in minutes, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. OK?’

‘OK,’ Alice Sark said. ‘Thank you.’

Wynne hung up and called DS Alexander. On the second attempt she picked up. A male voice muttered something in the background and DS Alexander shushed him.

‘What is it?’ she said, her voice sleepy.

‘It’s Ms Sark. There’s another letter. Hand delivered. I’m going over there now. You don’t have to come.’

‘I will. Of course.’

‘I’ll pick you up.’

DS Alexander was outside her house ten minutes later, a mug of coffee in her hand. She climbed into the passenger seat.

‘Hand delivered,’ she said. ‘That’s a step up. And quite a risk, with patrol cars going past every ten minutes.’

Wynne nodded. ‘It is. It’s the killer saying they’re in charge, and that ten minutes is enough. They can get to her if they want to.’

‘She may need to stop writing about the murders. Take herself out of the firing line.’

Wynne looked up at DS Alexander. ‘It may be too late for that.’

Tom

Tom stood behind Wynne, reading the letter over her shoulder. Alice was next to him.

G’day, Alice!

That’s what they say Down Under, isn’t it? It should be easy for the super-sleuths on the force to find me now. Can’t be too many Australian males in the area, after all. I might have to disappear for a while, or DI Wynne will be slapping the cuffs on me!

Or maybe your friend DS Alexander. Nadia. Nice girl. She shouldn’t be mixed up in all this.

And neither should you, for two reasons.

First, you don’t understand what you are messing with. You don’t want to irritate me. You don’t know what I’ll do.

I don’t know what I’ll do.

Second – and more importantly – it won’t work. I know what the police are getting you to do. Call me a coward, a common criminal, make me angry. Make me slip up, reveal myself.

I am not so foolish, my little lady.

So here’s my suggestion: you stop all this. You go back to your husband (an engineer! How charming!) and daughter and forget all about me.

Then I’ll forget all about you.

But if you don’t – well, I might remember you. You might pop into my mind at just the wrong time.

Wrong for you. Right for me: I’ll enjoy what I do to you.

But very wrong for you.

G’day!

PS – an Australian male! You lot really are quite something