She made her way down to the garden shed. It smelt musty, like sheds should, and she looked around her. George had it quite cosy really. This was his little domain. His refuge. He spent a great deal of time here.

Suddenly, Elaine felt like an interloper. She shrugged. This was as much her shed as George’s. He had the gardening sorted out like she did the house. His and hers.

Now, where were the seeds? She began by looking on the small shelves he had built. There were gladioli bulbs waiting to go into the ground. She would get him to put some by the front door this year, liven up the front of the house with a nice spray of colour. She was warming to her theme. Planning the garden would give her something else to think about. Once George was made redundant he would be spending a lot of time in the garden. He could replace the whole lot. Buy some nice rose bushes. She liked a nice rose and George was a good gardener. He was patient and thorough. There were never any weeds anywhere.

She began clearing the old desk of gardening debris, then opened it up to find his gardening magazines. She would flick through them and get some ideas. They could even have a bigger pond, with a nice rockery.

She pulled out the magazines and then went cold. She stared down at the books as if not quite sure of what she was seeing.

A girl was looking at her, a Chinese girl, nearly naked and with a chain around her neck.

She was smiling.

Elaine picked up the magazine and stared at it, feeling the bile rising in her stomach.

Underneath there was another one. This had ‘Nazi Torturers’ emblazoned across it. On the front were two women in SS uniforms dragging a scantily clad girl between them.

Elaine closed her eyes tightly and opened them again. It was no good, they were still there.

Slowly she removed all the magazines. Her heart was heavy now. Underneath the magazines were some scrap books and she took these out. Sitting in George’s comfortable chair, she opened one. It was full of newspaper clippings about the Yorkshire Ripper, yellowing with age now and brittle-looking.

There were the photographs of his victims. Headlines screamed out at her: I WAS CHOSEN TO KILL. HER EYES DROVE ME CRAZY. RIPPER IN THE WITNESS BOX.

She closed the scrapbook and opened another one.

This time the cuttings were newer, all about the Grantley Ripper, and suddenly Elaine knew what had happened. It was crystal clear.

It was George who had murdered all these women.

He was sick.

He had attacked her!

Elaine hastily began to put the scrapbooks and magazines back where she had found them. She had to get the police. She was fumbling in her haste and only half aware of the shadow that passed the shed window. She did not even hear the shed door opening. She turned around and came face to face with George. So great was her terror that instead of screaming she groaned, holding on to the desk for support lest she faint away completely.