Although there was one thing going for her. She knew what was about to happen: there was going to be an attempt on her life that evening. Surely there was a way of using this knowledge to her advantage?

There was one way. It was dangerous. It was foolhardy, and there was every chance it would end with her lying in a pool of blood with a bullet in the centre of her forehead.

She could use herself as bait.

After all, if the killer was caught trying to kill Judith with the antique German pistol from the other murders, that would be enough to get a conviction, wouldn’t it? In which case, all Judith had to do was quietly fill her house with police officers, and the moment the killer walked in with the pistol, they could move in and make their arrest.

Although, she realised, what if the killer saw the police arrive?

In fact, the more Judith thought about it, the more she realised that the killer was very possibly already outside in the storm, spying on her house. The moment any kind of police presence arrived, the killer would slip away and wait for another day to end Judith’s life. A day when she didn’t have police protection.

No, Judith realised, she couldn’t risk involving the police. Not yet. She had to do this on her own. And only after the killer was inside her house, antique Luger in hand, could the police arrive. But how could that be achieved?

Judith was too wired to eat, but she poured herself a small glass of Scotch, went over to her card table, sharpened a pencil, and started to write down her thoughts: what she knew, what she suspected, and what she believed was about to happen.

As she finished her Scotch, her hand reached for the decanter for a refill, but she paused. One drink was enough, tonight of all nights. But she still had a craving she needed to satisfy, so she reached down to her handbag and pulled out her travel sweets. She put the tin on the table, lifted the lid and saw that the contents were now mostly icing sugar. But there were still a couple of boiled sweets left, so she popped one in her mouth and carried on with her work.

By 8 p.m. the storm had intensified, the wind now violently whipping the trees, and Judith had finalised her plans.

She’d come to the conclusion that while she couldn’t have police cars arriving at her house, she still needed an early warning system of sorts. After all, once the killer arrived, she might not have the chance to ring the police herself. Or what if the killer asked to see her phone and saw that she’d just called the police?