The weather was warm, sunny, not a cloud in the sky. It was a good day for stalking. Union Square park, she was delighted to discover, wasn’t locked and kept solely for the pleasure of the residents of the surrounding streets. She was in luck, too; one side of the small park was heavily planted with view-obscuring shrubs but not the side facing Allison’s house. The densely planted shrubs were a backdrop for a line of benches. Original Victorian, she guessed, eyeing the cast-iron arms and legs. Overhanging branches provided shade from the sun, the downside of their protection being the green algae that covered most of the wood. Jo wasn’t precious and sat on the end of the bench, the seat with the clearest view of Allison’s front door. Taking a pair of powerful binoculars from her pocket, she settled for a long wait.

The arrival of a man on Allison’s doorstep had Jo straighten and press the binoculars tighter to her eyes. A veritable Tweedledum… or perhaps Tweedledee. She watched as he straightened his jacket, fixed his tie and ran a hand over the sparse hair that barely covered his head. Only then did he reach for the bell. Seconds later, the door was opened. Jo zoomed in as much as she could on the figure appearing in the gap.

Allison’s black garb emphasised her pallor. No make-up, her hair scraped back from her face, a severe style that highlighted her high cheekbones. And her perfect, unblemished skin. In that moment, Jo hated her more than she’d ever done before.

Tweedledum was admitted, the door was shut, and Jo was where she aways was… on the outside. The weight of sorrow was an old friend; it settled in her chest, as it always did. Only anger rid her of it, and that came surging in now, bringing her to her feet in an abrupt, jerky motion. Had there been anyone nearby, they’d have given the wide-eyed, panting woman a wide berth, might even have seen the manic expression on her face and rung the authorities. But apart from a stooped, elderly woman walking an equally old dog, the park was empty.

The burst of anger never lasted. Time had taught Jo it was a wasted emotion and a minute later it had faded.

The binoculars were useless, and she hadn’t developed superpowers to allow her to see through walls. Leaving the park, she crossed the street and walked slowly past the house. There was movement in the front room. Allison had taken the man, whoever he was, into the living room, not the dreary dining room. Perhaps Tweedledum was an undertaker, and she was acting in anticipation of the death certificate to organise a funeral for her late departed. If so, she was being very optimistic. Jo had done an internet search and knew the police could take months to complete the investigation.