Hepton turned on his heel and started up the carpeted steps two at a time, pushing hard as though his knees were mechanical pistons. The banisters were new. Dark polished wood with brass supports. His arms pulled hard on them, heaving his body upwards. He didn’t pause at the third floor – he needed territory he could recognise. Instead he left the stairs at the fourth floor and ran back to Jilly’s flat. Once inside, he closed the door quietly, then locked it. He realised that his right hand was gripping the kitchen knife. The video screen showed him the main lobby on the ground floor. People were beginning to move outside, some of them explaining to a fireman where the blaze was situated. Hepton could no longer hear the sirens and supposed they had been turned off. Well, he couldn’t give them a fire … but fire was useful in other ways.

He walked quickly to the kitchen and filled the largest pot he could find with water from the hot tap. Then he manoeuvred it onto a ring of the gas cooker and turned the flame on full blast. It was Dark Ages stuff, but potentially effective. He pondered the contents of the food cupboard. The only pepper, though, seemed to be in the form of peppercorns. Useless. He cursed Jilly’s yuppie lifestyle. Where were the tools? The saws, electric drills? The screwdrivers and spanners? What use was the broken edge of an empty champagne bottle against a killer toting a gun?

Then it struck him: Harry knew that Hepton had come to Jilly’s flat. Therefore she would know Jilly’s name …

And Jilly’s name was engraved on the front door’s silver nameplate!

Cautiously, Hepton took a few paces towards the door. He could hear no sounds. Maybe Harry had taken a wrong turn. He pressed his ear to the door. Still no sound. Then the world exploded.

The solid wood of the door splintered just a few inches to his right, beside where the battery of indoor locks was placed. There was a roaring in his ears, the result of the explosion. Another gunshot splintered more wood and severed the first lock’s mechanism.

Hepton walked backwards into the kitchen. The pot was bubbling on the hob, and he lifted it with both hands grasped around the handle, walking back into the hallway just as a third shot severed the final locks and Harry’s foot kicked the door open. She saw Hepton directly in front of her and raised the pistol, but then saw what he was holding …