There was no sign of what had caused the fire. The oven was badly burnt, but still intact—it hadn’t exploded, and there were no scorch marks around it. The official line, as it always was in situations like this, would be that the fire had been caused by a gas leak. But the evidence in front of Knox proved that wasn’t true.

The tarpaulin across the windows started to flutter. Knox assumed it was. just wind blowing up the side of the building, and he decided to give the bedroom a more thorough check to see what he could salvage, even if it was just a change of clothes. But before he turned away from the oven something slammed into the back of his head, knocking him out and sending him falling, face-first onto the kitchen floor.

The fluttering sheets hadn’t been caused by the wind but by someone else silently pulling apart the tarpaulin across the door and bringing more fresh air into the apartment.

The man had been waiting all night and day for someone to visit Knox’s flat. After the fire brigade and police had left, he’d taken up his position on one of Kemp House’s unoccupied lower floors. He’d spent all night peering through the small window in the door to the building’s central staircase. Then, when the lift was turned back on in the morning, he’d turned his attention to its display panel and waited for it to tell him someone was going up to the top floor. When it finally had, ten minutes ago, he’d made his way up the stairs and into Knox’s flat.

He pulled a roll of thick duct tape from his pocket, and used it to bind the unconscious Knox’s wrists and ankles before he dragged him into his bedroom and up onto the bed. He ran several long lengths of tape across Knox’s chest and thighs, holding him in place. Then he cut off another strip to cover his mouth. His instructions weren’t to kill Knox, just to make sure he couldn’t leave or call for help. He didn’t know if someone else was going to execute him or if he was just going to be left to die slowly and alone in the flat. And he didn’t care—it wasn’t his job or his problem.

He looked at the bruise that was starting to blossom across Knox’s cheek and the bloody cut on his brow that was dirty with soot from the kitchen floor. Then he checked that all the pieces of tape were secure and, satisfied with his work, put the roll back in his pocket, stepped out of the flat, sealed the tarpaulin across the door back down, and called the lift.

Chapter 49

Chapter 49

Bennett had discovered Speakers’ Corner one Sunday four months ago.