She told him about their visit to Old Fleet village and relayed the victim’s questions. It was a good one. How had the intruder known she had the photo? Why choose her and not someone else? The thought had been bugging him too. He could only surmise that the man had been in her house before, on a recce. More to the point, he’d been in all the houses at some point. Jackman knew exactly how that could come about. It would be his first job when he got into work, asking them all whether they’d had workmen in recently. Telephone engineers, window cleaners, security or double-glazing salesmen, anyone seemingly legitimate that gained access to their home. All he needed was a common denominator.

He took Laura’s tea to her and found her sitting up, still looking pensive.

‘You’re starting to really worry me, sweetheart,’ he said softly. ‘Isn’t there anything I can do to help?’

Laura smiled at him. ‘I’m so sorry. I never meant to worry you, darling. But now I have Sam and another expert in the field with me, I’m sure we’ll sort it in no time.’

‘And that’s all it is? Nothing else?’ he asked.

For one fleeting second there was an expression of . . . what? Surely not guilt. Or maybe just tension, and then it was gone. But he was a policeman, trained to notice such indications.

‘It’s just work, really it is.’ She held out her arms to him.

He lay down and put his arms around her. She wasn’t telling the truth. He was determined to ring Sam as soon as possible.

* * *

Sam was sitting up in bed with a large mug of decaffeinated tea — for his heart — surrounded by Hughie Mackenzie’s case studies. It was heavy stuff. By far the most shocking was the brutal attack on an apparently well-loved sister and her husband. But there were other cases too, ones that hadn’t made the tabloids. He read about a young man who in his waking life had no real creative talent, but in his sleep he produced the most beautiful and elaborate artwork. He had even held exhibitions in famous galleries. Hughie had included copies of some of his work, which was truly amazing. Apparently, an art expert had been shown a selection of this artist’s nocturnal paintings and had believed each one to have been made by a different artist, so varied were they in technique and style.

Sam sipped his tea and turned a page. He read of a chef who would get up in the night and prepare a full meal. His wife would find him eating, still fast asleep. Amusing, but think of those sharp knives being wielded by a sleeping man.