The walls running round all three sides were higher than she had any hope of scaling. But there was a small lean-to shed in the far corner, with a water-butt and a raised vegetable bed next to it. She scrambled up on to the butt and from there on to the corrugated iron roof of the shed. Beyond lay the rear courtyard of the house in the next street over. A little boy sitting on a blue and yellow toy pedal-bike stared up at her in wide-eyed wonderment. The door into the kitchen was open behind him, offering Wada the possibility of an escape route.

She heard heavy footfalls behind her. Looking round, she saw the man from the kitchen coming after her, despite the angry burn-marks on his neck and chin. He was breathing stertorously. His face was knotted in rage. ‘Bitch,’ he shouted as their eyes met.

Wada balanced on top of the wall, then slithered down the other side of it, clinging on as she tried to find a toehold. Her bag slipped from her shoulder and fell to the ground. Glancing up, she saw the man above her as he hauled himself up on to the roof of the shed. He was only a few feet away.

Then his greater weight told on the corrugated iron. It split and gave way under him. He crashed straight down into the shed – and out of Wada’s sight.

She let go and dropped down into the rear neighbour’s yard. She scooped up her bag, looked at the goggle-eyed but so far silent boy and raised her forefinger to her lips, then ran past him into the house.

There was a young woman working at the sink in the kitchen. As Wada rushed through the room, she whirled round and exclaimed, ‘Oh my God.’

She had no time to do much more before Wada reached the front door, wrenched it open and ran out into the street.

All was quiet. There was a T-junction about fifty metres ahead. She headed down to it and turned right, away from Dr Morrisette’s house and towards the city centre. She glanced over her shoulder every few metres. There was no sign of anyone coming after her, or of a van taking Morrisette away. But she knew it was stupid to believe they wouldn’t come after her. It was just a matter of time – and chance.

Within minutes, she’d reached the main street into the historic centre. On the other side of the road was a hotel, in front of which a coach was parked, filled with tourists who looked to Wada as if they might well be Japanese. They were mostly gazing vacantly through the windows or chatting to their travelling companions. The last of their luggage was being loaded into the hold.