‘We’re looking over the scene now where MP Lewis Faulkner and medical student Thomas Butler were murdered last night by the serial killer, the so-called @nonymous. The police have sealed off the area and are conducting their investigations as we speak. The killer live-streamed the murders. We have confirmation by the police that they have a suspect . . . and I think we might have a picture.’ The anchor looks beyond camera. ‘Do we have a picture?’

Oliver Merrick’s mugshot appears in the corner of the screen.

‘Yes, we have a photo.’ The anchor looks down, reading from his notes. ‘He is . . .’

The female anchor finishes his sentence. ‘Oliver Merrick, forty-one years old. An accountant based in North London and originally from Cornwall. Police advise that you do not approach him. The police contact number is on the screen too. Please call that number if you see him .’

Archer picks up a buttering knife and taps it on the worktop. She has read Merrick’s file. He is out of shape and five feet eight with no history of being athletic, fit or strong. Could he really be @nonymous?

The screen begins to flicker and then goes black.

‘Ah, the joys of live television,’ laughs the male anchor. ‘We should be back live at the scene in a moment. In the meantime, what do we have coming up on the show, Susan?’

Susan smiles and bares teeth that are unnaturally white. ‘Thank you, Pete. We have a fascinating segment on the decline of tea drinking in the nation’s capital and at 10.30 we ask, which of our new royals do you most admire, and why?’

Archer is about to switch off when the live feed flickers back to life.

‘We’re back live at Twyford Abbey,’ says Pete. ‘It’s an extraordinary story. There was a third victim last night. A survivor saved by the police. He is local businessman, Jamie Blackwell. Here in the studio I have a friend of Jamie’s, Victoria Dunmore-Watson.’

What the hell is she doing talking to the media?

Dunmore-Watson is a thin woman with a turkey neck and long glossy hair.

‘Hello, Victoria. You raised the alarm yesterday. Is that correct?’

‘Not yesterday, actually. I raised it two days ago, and would anyone listen to me? No! It was a total waste of time.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘They don’t give a damn.’

Pete laughs and turns to the camera. ‘Please accept our apologies for Miss Dunmore-Watson’s colourful language at this time of the morning.’

Victoria looks like she couldn’t care less.

‘Sorry,’ she says, half-heartedly.

‘So please tell us what happened.’

‘I was talking to Jamie around three or four. I can’t remember. Anyway, he was going to meet a client, so he said, but I thought it was probably a date with some sla— girl from Tinder.’

‘The dating app?’

Archer butters the still-warm bread.