She shrugged. ‘Everyone is shocked and bewildered. And I was told that quite a few people are afraid to leave their homes. It’s just like it was last Christmas when the murders were taking place. No one knows if there will be more killings this year.’

‘I don’t think we’re dealing with a serial killer this time,’ James said.

‘But that’s the problem isn’t it? You don’t really know what you’re dealing with. Uncle Bill called today. He’d heard about the Batemans on the news,’ Annie said. Her uncle Bill lived alone in Penrith and had dementia. They had learned of his condition a year ago and since then it had gradually worsened, although he still managed to cope without a carer or having to go into a home.

‘He was apparently a friend of Robert Bateman’s, but he also knew Simon and Amanda Roth quite well. He said they were a lovely couple and he never did believe what everyone said about Simon killing his wife. He’s always been convinced that there was more to it than that.’

‘I don’t think he’s the only one,’ James said. ‘But the problem for the investigators at the time was the lack of witnesses. Plus, there was no obvious motive and no potential suspects.’

James was about to tell Annie that he had visited the churchyard to see the Roths’ headstone but as he started to speak his phone rang.

His heart shunted up a gear when he saw that the caller was Leo Freeman, his former colleague in the Met.

‘I’d better take this in the other room,’ he said, rising quickly to his feet.

Annie’s eyes narrowed inquisitively as he rushed out of the kitchen clutching his phone.

He didn’t press the answer button until he was in the hallway, and before Leo spoke, he said, ‘I assume you’ve got an update for me on our friend?’

‘That I have, James, and I’m afraid you’re not going to like it.’

James experienced a blast of anxiety, and suddenly his throat was too tight to speak.

‘We still don’t know where he is,’ Leo carried on. ‘But we just came across a couple of burner phones that were hidden in his home. On one of them were some photographs of you and your wife and your house in Cumbria. It looks like they were taken about two months ago by whoever sent them to Sullivan. I’m about to send them to you.’

James squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. This was just what he didn’t need right now – a raising of the threat level from the villain who effectively drove he and Annie out of London with his terrorisation.

‘Do you know who took the photos?’ he asked.