Leonora Davidson was watching Taggart, unaware that not twenty yards away the Grantley Ripper was watching her bedroom window. She snuggled into her chair, a mug of coffee on a small table beside her and her cigarettes on the arm of her chair. She was content.

George watched the window for ten minutes. Nothing. He glanced at his watch. It was ten to ten.

He began to walk towards the block, his eyes scanning the street and the windows of the flats for movement.

Leonora heard a knock at her front door and tutted. ‘Taggart’ was just about to unmask the killer. She got up from her chair and went out into her tiny hall.

‘Who is it?’ Her voice was loud and impatient.

‘Is that Mrs Davidson?’

Leonora frowned. She didn’t know the voice.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘I’m the man who got mugged, you came out to help me.’ George’s voice was quiet and meek.

Leonora’s eyebrows went up.

‘Oh, yes, I remember.’

She opened the front door, pulling back two large bolts and taking off the chain before opening it.

George stood there smiling.

‘I’m sorry to come so late but I work rather unsocial hours, you see. I just wanted to thank you properly for all your help that night. I really don’t know what I would have done without you.’

Upstairs, he heard a door opening and began to panic.

‘May I come inside for a moment? I won’t keep you long, I promise.’ He could hear footsteps on the landing above. Whoever it was would see him. They would see his face and know he had been here.

Leonora stepped back and George walked into her hall, pushing the door shut behind him. He smiled at her. His little smile that just showed his teeth. He had observed her for weeks and knew that there was no man in the house. She always went to bed alone.

Leonora smiled back. Now she knew who he was, she was happier. You couldn’t be too careful when you lived alone. ‘Will you come through to the lounge? I was just having a coffee, would you like one?’ Her open face was like balm to George.

‘If it’s no trouble . . . I don’t want to put you out.’

He followed her into her lounge.

‘Sit down and I’ll get you your coffee. Do you take milk and sugar?’

George nodded. ‘Oh, you’re watching Taggart, I love that programme myself. My wife’s taping it for me.’

‘Well, sit down, Mr . . .’

‘Markham. George Markham.’

‘Well, sit down, Mr Markham, I won’t be a second.’