There is still no answer to the doorbell when Archer presses the button a third time. She glances up and down the street, suddenly aware that it’s eerily quiet. She recalls the stories of ghost sightings in the area. Mysterious grey figures drifting from the East Cemetery, across Swains Lane, to the West Cemetery. She doesn’t believe in ghosts, but still the unsettling memory of hearing these stories when she was younger makes her shiver.

She shakes them from her mind and peers through the small mottled glass pane set within the front door, but there is nothing or no one to see.

She takes four steps back and stands on the roadside looking up at the glass walls of the second floor.

She has the sense that someone is watching her.

For a second she thinks she sees movement. A fleeting shadow lurking in the gloomy interior. Is she imagining it? Her spine ices over.

She glances at her phone and wonders if Klara has got word to Quinn and Hicks.

A car approaches and she moves back onto the pavement. As it disappears she hears footfalls. Someone is descending a staircase.

Her mouth dries as a figure looms behind the mottled glass pane.

The door opens.

‘Grace! What are you doing here?’ Jamie Blackwell is standing in the doorway with a look of surprise and confusion on his face. His eyes are in better condition, however the whites are still scarlet. ‘How did you know I was here?’

Archer looks up and down the street and, satisfied there is no one watching, pushes her way inside and closes the door behind her. ‘I’ve been looking for you. You left the hospital without letting me know.’

‘I was feeling quite well.’

‘You shouldn’t have done that. The killer is still out there. He hasn’t finished with you.’

He smiles.

Archer frowns at him. ‘This is no joke, Jamie.’

‘Let’s go in,’ he says.

She hears classical music playing upstairs, hesitates and is unsure why.

Her skin begins to tingle.

‘Are you alone?’ she asks.

‘Just me. How about you?’

‘Yes.’

‘How on earth did you find me?’

Archer is distracted by the interior. Looking up the staircase, she can see the light from the sky outside. How odd it must be to live in a glass box, she thinks.

A glass box.

Jamie locks the front door.

‘Would you like a drink? Tea, coffee or something stronger?’

He leads her away from the staircase and into a large kitchen, which she notices connects via a door to the garage.

‘What can I get you?’

‘Just water, thank you.’

The kitchen is modern to the point of being space-age. Light shimmers from the immaculate stainless-steel worktops and appliances. At one end a glass wall overlooks the West Cemetery.

Jamie lives in a glass box alongside the dead.