Connie considered continuing her journey down the steps, but that would require her to turn her back on him.

‘You got a problem?’ she called to him.

He was silent. A worm of fear slithered in her guts, and it made her furious.

‘Do not fuck with me tonight,’ she shouted. ‘You will totally regret it.’

A growl issued from the back of his throat.

Too many thoughts at once. Psychosexual killers’ propensity towards revisiting the scene of their crimes. Stupid of her for not checking if she was being followed before entering the passageway. Expertly trained in self-defence or not, a man twice her build approaching from a height advantage was likely unbeatable. She didn’t want to die without seeing Martha’s Vineyard one more time. And lastly, dying wasn’t an acceptable option. She had too much left to do.

‘Screw you,’ she said, shoving her fear down deep and sprinting up the steps towards him, fists hard, relying on agility and surprise.

He jumped down towards her, taking the steps two at a time and lighter on his feet than his size had suggested he would be. Connie regretted her decision instantly, wishing she’d run for it.

‘Excuse me,’ a voice called from above them.

The man was only fifteen feet from her now. Her would-be assailant looked back. Connie took the opportunity to retreat instead, racing off in the opposite direction.

There was a shout from above, the thud of a body hitting the ground, followed by the tumble-yelp-tumble of ongoing pain. She got well clear before pausing and turning back.

Above her, Brodie Baarda was standing over a body, holding one wrist behind the man’s back. They were talking too quietly for her to hear against the ragged gasps of her breath. Shaking her head, Connie reversed direction a final time, walking slowly back up to Baarda. Her legs were shaking. Fear turned to fury.

‘Get up,’ Baarda told the man, hauling him to his feet and yanking down his hood.

The face revealed was fleshy and pockmarked, the red marbling at the end of his nose the sure sign of a long-term heavy drinker.

‘He says he was looking for a prostitute. A local pimp regularly leaves him a girl here late at night,’ Baarda explained.

‘You looked like you were waiting for me,’ the man directed at Connie.

‘On account of my having a vagina and being in an alleyway late at night?’ Connie asked.

‘I’ve got fifty quid here with your name on it,’ the man smirked.

Baarda smashed a fist into one side of the man’s ribcage and he revisited the floor with a high-pitched gurgle.

‘Come on,’ Baarda said. ‘Whatever you were looking for here, he isn’t it.’

He took Connie by the elbow and began guiding her back up the steps. She didn’t fight him.