As Sarah pulled into home she could not escape the image of Angelica – her open eyes crusted with dirt as she stared into the abyss. She recalled her own encounter with death. Remembered the police finding her cowering in the back of the shattered wardrobe. As much as she had tried to escape it, the memory had clung like a leech, through her adolescence and into adulthood. But there were no second chances for Angelica. No momentary brushes she could escape. Angelica’s last moments were too monstrous to contemplate. Every resident of Slayton was in danger for as long as her killer was free.

Never had Sarah felt so reluctant to shove her key into her own front door. It was why she’d stopped off at a coffee shop, spending an hour on a crossword as she nursed her latte. It seemed bizarre, how she could focus on word puzzles when a killer was roaming free, but playing with words was the only thing that could calm her down. Help her to think. She remembered after the shooting, when she’d rocked in her hospital bed reciting the alphabet backwards again and again. Her lips silently moving Z, Y, X, W, V, U … It was her brain’s way of keeping her functional. To stop speaking completely meant she would lose herself to the trauma. Then Grandad Noble, his eyes red with grief as he brought her crossword puzzles and word searches to keep her occupied. That was when Sarah discovered the real power in words.

Now she was late for the town hall meeting but couldn’t leave until she’d fed her cat. Softly, she opened the door, pausing to listen for any unusual sounds before stepping lightly into her hall. She approached the kitchen, half-expecting to find another taunting letter on her floor. A clatter rose from within. There was someone in there. Her fingers curled into a fist. What she’d give for her telescopic baton right now. It was secured in a police locker, along with her CS gas. If she was found in possession of either off duty, she would be in hot water. Right now, it would have been worth the risk. She quickly swung open the door before taking a step back.

‘Sherlock!’ Sarah’s hand fell to her chest, as her cat jumped down from the sink. On the floor was the plastic cereal bowl he’d sent crashing down. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’ Her gaze fell to the floor beneath the cat flap and she exhaled a relieved breath. There was nothing there.

For now, the phone was silent, and there was no sign of her husband. Muttering to herself, she gave Sherlock extra helpings before heading into town.