All of the films, including Billy Perrin’s, have similar themes: voyeurism with implied violence. Or in Billy’s case, and the two other men in glass cabinets, murder. There is no doubt in Archer’s mind that these were not staged or acted videos. These people were victims and she wonders if any are still alive.

She opens her email and quickly composes a message to Os asking him to start working on identifying the people in the videos.

*

After a fitful night she wakes to the 7 a.m. news broadcasting through her digital clock, yawns and stretches as the events of yesterday begin to flood her groggy head. Billy Perrin’s shrivelled corpse and Josef Olinski’s burning body flash in her mind. She shivers, swings out of bed and hears Grandad humming to himself as he fills a kettle in the kitchen downstairs.

The radio news steals her attention as the reporter announces he is broadcasting live from the scene of ‘yesterday’s bizarre murder exhibition’.

‘. . . As yet the victims have not been named and there has been no statement from the police, but we expect that to change sometime today. I have to say the scene before me is chilling. There is an overwhelming sense of the macabre that is quite extraordinary! Yesterday, the Forensic team in their white overalls huddled in conversation as the last of the bodies was extracted and wheeled into a waiting ambulance. Although not confirmed, police will no doubt wish to speak to the artist who calls himself @nonymous. Our sources from the Lord Mayor’s Show tell us this was the start of a new collection the artist has called “The Forsaken”. No details yet on what is to come with the next instalment of that collection. More of that story as and when it comes in.

‘In other news the family of Tory MP Lewis Faulkner, have spoken to the police about their concerns for his whereabouts . . .’

She switches off the radio and hears Grandad’s voice calling up the stairs, ‘Morning, Grace.’

Archer feels a bounce in her mood. He has remembered that she has come to stay.

She peers down at him from the top of the stairs. ‘Morning, Grandad.’ But her heart sinks. He has lost more weight and his face is verging on gaunt.

He smiles warmly at her. ‘Would you like some breakfast?’

She isn’t especially hungry but doesn’t want to disappoint him. ‘Yes, please.’

‘I’ll get the tea ready and make some toast, shall I?’

‘Thanks, Grandad.’