It was simple after that. He hung around the nursing home that evening from 5pm. He wasn’t sure what position she’d taken so she could be finished at that time but it wasn’t until 8.15 that he saw her, a raincoat opened over her navy uniform tunic and trousers. He stepped back into the shadows and watched her walk down the street. She trudged with a weary downward slump to her shoulders and it wasn’t difficult to follow her to Wilfred Street. He ducked back around the corner when he saw her stop outside a house and take a key from her pocket. When he looked, seconds later, she had gone inside.

Victor lived too far away to do more than call back the odd day. It was too risky to move closer – there was always the chance she might find out, all she had to do was ask the right person.

Being on the register of sex offenders was a burden he carried with an angry resentment that grew at each refusal to have his name removed. He’d been sceptical when he’d read about a course of treatment in a private clinic and stunned at the cost. But he was lucky; his mother had died while he was in prison and everything she had, including her London house, was left to him. He’d had the house sold as soon as probate had cleared and had left prison with a healthy bank balance. Money, as a result, wasn’t an issue. Begrudgingly, he applied to do the course, thinking, rightly as it turned out, that showing willingness to correct his alleged problems would be seen by those who sat in judgement as a good step.

The course of treatment was mundane. Days of excruciatingly boring lectures and one-on-one counselling sessions where he had to chew the inside of his lip in order not to yawn, or worse, laugh hysterically. But the live-in course was held in an old country manor within acres of parkland, the food was excellent and wine, if not precisely plentiful, was at least served with dinner. As in prison, he kept himself to himself and counted down the days.

Twenty-eight days of utter boredom but it had worked. The report stating that he had fully engaged with treatment went with the application to have his name removed from the register and, this time, it was successful.

The same day it was removed, he’d packed his belongings and headed to Gravesend. His needs were simple: prison had taught him a complete disregard for possessions, and a cheap bedsit suited him fine.

Over the next few weeks, Victor watched and followed, took notes, and worked out Jodie’s duty rota. It was easy then. He saw her almost every day, walking behind her on the way to work, sometimes waiting until she came off-duty and following her home.