He liked blood. He liked the sticky feel of it, like crimson semen. He pulled off her trainers and tracksuit bottoms, staring at her milky white legs as if fascinated. She had on a pair of white panties and her thick red pubic hair poked out of the sides with a jauntiness that pleased George immensely. Like this, Elaine was his perfect woman. Faceless, undemanding and completely available.

He poked a finger into her crotch, feeling the softness there. He ran his finger inside the silky material of her panties and round her pubic hair.

He licked his lips, feeling the sweat that was now beading them. He hooked his fingers into her panties and pulled them down her legs slowly, gently, revealing her most intimate parts.

He unzipped his trousers, locked in the almost sublime feelings of his fantasy world. He began to knead her thighs, feeling the cold strength of them. He tried to part her legs further to remove her panties, but they wouldn’t budge! He pulled at them harder, trying to force them open.

George had not allowed for rigor mortis.

His breathing was laboured now, from his exertions and from his fantasies.

He frowned.

Elaine had always been the same: difficult. Even in death, she was still inaccessible.

He wiped a clammy hand over his face. Suddenly, the chaos around him registered. He had better get cleaned up. He had plenty of time for fun.

Real fun, with better women than Elaine.

He began to bundle her into the other black bag, his movements more urgent now. Finally he sat back on his heels and stared at his handiwork. Elaine was trussed up like a chicken.

Standing up, he zipped his trousers back up, carefully tucking in his shirt first. He would have a nice cup of tea, then he would start the second phase of his operation.

Kelly was waiting outside the pub where Kate and Caitlin had gone for lunch. As she saw his black BMW she felt a lurch in her breast. Caitlin grinned at her and said: ‘I think you’ve got company, Kate. I’ll see you later.’

He waltzed into the pub and left her standing alone on the pavement. She could see Patrick’s face through the windscreen and against her better judgement walked over to the car and got inside.

‘Hello, Kate.’ Patrick’s voice was normal and she swallowed hard.

‘Patrick.’ She let him drive. The closeness of him made her feel breathless. She could smell his aftershave. Despite herself she was glad to see him. This fact, admitted to and accepted, annoyed her.

Patrick drove to his house and she got out of the car and followed him inside. They had barely spoken a word. In his dining room the table was laid for two and the smell of a delicious roast assailed her nostrils.

He held her seat for her and she sat down.