She slid the car into a gap by a hedge, 300 yards away from the barn. She shrugged off the formal jacket and went to the boot. She slipped on John’s stab vest, then his thick outdoor coat and over trousers which she had grabbed from his home office on her way out. She could have taken his formal cap too, had she been so minded. Finally she took off her high heels, and slid on John’s wellingtons. There are some advantages to having a short, slightly built husband. For the first time in many days she felt a slight twinge of affection for the poor sod.

Finally, she donned Vanessa’s leather backpack with its deadly blade within, then trudged towards her target.

Picking her way around puddles and noisy gravel, Mel approached the barn. At ten yards it was clear there was no CCTV camera, just a satellite dish. She could see the building’s hardwood doors were closed. She rested her ear against them but could hear no sounds within. She also knew that with the internal office, which did have windows, there was no way she could surprise him. Was it really just a question of waiting for him to come out? It was only noon, and he could be in there all day. She made her way carefully around the perimeter of the building, noting that there was a lean-to shed at the back, with a cracked window and a rotten door. It seemed to be full of discarded timber, old window frames and builders’ rubble.

She reached the door handle and, as she pulled, it let out a grinding noise. There was a great clattering of wings as a flock of pigeons exploded from the top of the barn. She jumped inside the shed, close the door and waited. After a minute she heard the creak of the barn door opening and footsteps. She held her breath as the crunch of feet came closer and then went past. She saw the shadow of him pass across the window. She took a deep breath, slid the knife from its scabbard and burst out of the door.

He was just turning away, his craggy profile catching the light. She knew what she must do. She had surprise on her side, but must use it quickly, and decisively. If she hesitated she was dead. But she was a woman and violence did not come easily. The prospect of taking a life terrified her, especially that of a man who for the last three years had been the secret joy of her world and her reason for living. And that was why she hesitated. She hesitated because she wanted answers.

‘Why wasn’t I enough? She’s my daughter, you bastard!’

‘Mel!—’ Surprise flew across his face on spotting the blade, and instinctively he crossed his arms to protect his chest. Her first downward slash bit deep red exclamation marks into the outer edges of both his hands, even as one snaked out for her throat, his favourite target. He caught her on the windpipe even as she ducked, but not before she thrust deep and low, her entire right shoulder behind it, pushing, pushing until her fist connected with his solar plexus, and the deep-buried blade jarred against bone. His screech of agony as he keeled over backwards was an octave higher than she had ever heard from him, and was accompanied by a spray of blood that spattered them both.