Seeing as I was effectively grounded, my morning had been spent going over dates of the killings. What Maggie said had got me thinking. All the murders had occurred near enough to a weekend. Friday, Saturday, Sunday and one discovered on Monday, but could have happened earlier. All of which supported the idea that the perpetrator had a day job and his weekends were free. There must have been a bit of flexibility in his job, so he could travel legitimately, or unnoticed. As far as I was aware, most university staff had relatively flexible hours, unless they had a high teaching load.

I checked my watch. It was 10.45 a.m. There was no one here to notice if I popped down to the hospital to see Dad before they discharged him. I thought I’d text Mum and see what she was up to, so reached for my cellphone before realising it was a bit difficult to text someone when they didn’t have a mobile. Someone needed to introduce that woman to the twenty-first century. My screen indicated I’d missed a call and there was a message. Must have come through when I was in the meeting this morning. I scrolled down and saw it came from Paul. My belly gave a pleasant little lurch at the sight of the name, but my head overrode it. He was probably trying to arrange lunch or something. I was tempted not to listen to the message and plead ignorance but decided that was a bit too lily-livered. Grown-up girls were supposed to be able to deal with a problem, even if they couldn’t figure out why it was such a problem.

Just do it, Shep.

‘Sam, it’s Paul.’ He must have rung from outside the Courthouse, as the wind crackled his voice and the sounds of passing vehicles punctuated the message. ‘Hey, I’ve done a bit of looking into your little…’ Another four cars. I wished he’d move. ‘Registered to…’ A car. ‘Ron Ellis…’ A truck this time, a double, probably sheep, and two cars. ‘… near you guys, so I thought I’d pay him a little visit this morning after I get out of court.’ The truck must have prompted him to move as it gradually became easier to hear him. ‘Do you want to meet for lunch, say, Nova, at noon and I can let you know how I got on? Cheers.’

That was a pretty smooth way of slipping in a lunch invitation. How could I refuse? At least I now knew the name of my mystery stalker. A name made him seem somehow smaller. A flesh-and-blood human being, like the rest of us.