He pulled the steering wheel hard left, slewing across three lanes of traffic, his foot never touching the brakes. He had no doubt that he’d have to answer to his super when he found out he’d had a civilian in the front seat acting as satnav while he was doing ninety down the hard shoulder with full blues and twos. But, frankly, right now the super could go screw himself.

He was heading down the hallway. Pressed against the wall, sweat dripping down her back, Clare stiffened. For the briefest of moments she closed her eyes. I can’t see you. You can’t see me. She dug her nails hard into the palms of her hands. Get a grip of yourself, woman! Suddenly the footsteps stopped.

She opened her eyes. Had he heard something? Had he seen her? Please don’t turn round. Then he was off again, moving. He opened the living room door, pulling it to behind him. She could hear him scrunching up paper. It sounded as if he was rattling the grate in the fireplace.

This was her chance, while his attention was fully engaged with something else. She edged down the stairway as quickly as she dared. She was down on level ground now. Standing on the Minton tiles just to one side of her was the little table. There was no doubting from this distance that it was blood smeared across the plastic bag, nor what the bag contained. It looked like the other half of the Bailsgrove Roman inscription, but where had Neil got it from? No time for that now. Her focus needed to be solely on that front door.

She listened. She could hear what sounded like a fire crackling in the front room. It was a steaming hot day. What on earth was he doing? He must be burning something.

She edged forward. As she got to the front door she realised for the first time that he’d put the chain across. She could feel the perspiration on her hands. Flattening her palms, she rubbed them down the front of her trousers. Then, putting her hand to the chain, she began to disengage the end of it from its catch. She almost had it fully withdrawn now.

There was a sudden ‘Ouch, shit!’ from the living room.

Instinctively she half turned and as she did so the end of the chain slipped from her fingers.

For several long seconds there was total silence. Then she heard him move. She looked at the front door, but the chain was still in place. There was no time. Turning, she hurtled past the living room door towards the kitchen. The back door. She twisted the handle and tugged furiously. But it wouldn’t budge. It must be locked – and no sign of a key. She could hear him. He was out of the living room now.

He’d seen her. ‘It’s you. You interfering bitch!’