Suddenly, yellow eyes peered at him out of the darkness. A cat. Ignoring it, Roy reached the patio doors, ready to try the handles and, if they were locked, to dive head first through them.

As he peered out into the moonlit darkness, a stag’s head, brightly lit from beneath, reared up and darted at the glass, its antlers rattling the panes, startling the hell out of him.

An instant later there was a brilliant flash of light behind him, followed by a loud bang. Then another. Another.

BANG BANG BANG.

He spun round in shock. Smelled gunpowder. And saw a firecracker jumping around the floor.

BANG BANG BANG.

For an instant he froze.

The firecracker fizzled out into silence.

A hooded head, with tiny eye slits, lit from below like the stag’s head, appeared in the window. Pointing a shotgun straight at him.

It was joined by a voice. Nasty, sinister, mocking. A Scouse accent, booming in the echoing silence. ‘Hello, Roy! So nice to see you again! Are you enjoying your cosy little family holiday? I do hope so! Remember me?’

He knew that voice. From somewhere.

‘Thought you were meant to be a sharp detective. But you didn’t recognize me in the wheelchair, did you? Nor did you recognize Monica who greeted you when you arrived.’

Monica? Who the hell was Monica?

‘She’s changed a bit, my old pal, in the past fifteen years, with the help of a wig, make-up and glasses. But hey, haven’t we all? Fooled you so easily – you must be slipping in your old age! But here’s the thing, Detective Superintendent – my, how you’ve been promoted in the years since we met – you were just a humble Detective Sergeant, then. You and I have a score to settle. All those years in the big house. You thought that was the end of me and Monica, didn’t you? Did you count on us being out so soon for good behaviour? I don’t think so.’

And suddenly, Roy did remember. Those eyebrows.

‘I spent all that time in my prison cell working out my revenge, Roy. Ever tried sleeping on a prison pillow, Roy? Rock hard they are. Like sleeping on a six-inch-thick breeze block. So I didn’t sleep much, see. Just lay there every night, thinking, planning, dreaming. Dreaming of the day I would make you pay. And now, voilà! With what I’ve got in mind, you and your family are all going to wish you were dead.’

17

The man’s voice.

The woman’s face. Her eyebrows.