It was after ten o’clock before he showed; he was the first person I’d seen from his apartment building, sporting jogging bottoms and a green hooded top, with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. I crouched down behind a green junction box and held my breath, glad he was on the other side of the road. Too engrossed in his phone as he walked past to notice anything. Where was he going? What was in the bag? I had an image of sawn-off limbs.

I watched him walk around the corner and waited for a minute before getting to my feet. He was fifty or so yard s in front, walking with purpose towards the main road into town. I followed him for ten minutes, all the time worrying he was going to turn around and see me. We walked past the library and through a small skate park, then I lost him. Standing where I last saw him, I spun round, but there was only one place he could be.

A new twenty-four-hour gym had opened in the summer. I remembered getting a leaflet through the door about it a month ago. These gyms were a new concept. During the day they were staffed, but at night, they were managed by security off site, who controlled the cameras. There was a key code and card entry to get in and the idea had become popular with those who worked shifts. So, he had gone to train.

I turned to walk back to the apartments. He wouldn’t be home for a while. I jogged back to his street and sat on the kerb at the top of the road; unsure what to do next. I needed to know his name and which number he lived at, but how to go about it? Googling the address brought up details of the building company. No information on the residents. I could press all the buzzers and see if anyone would let me inside? It was the best plan I could think of at short notice.

Crossing the road to the block, I swung my keys around my finger like a cowboy spinning a gun. A well dressed lady in her fifties with long, flowing dyed locks emerged from the entrance. She carried a burgundy handbag, the handle tucked into the crook of her arm. It looked expensive, a designer brand.

If only I’d moved faster, I could have slipped inside before the door shut, but that would have been too obvious. I heard the click of the lock. Damn it.

‘Excuse me, sorry to bother you,’ I said in my poshest lilt.

She turned and smiled at me, taking in my sporting attire.

‘Hello, how can I help you?’ she asked.