When the old station clock showed eight, Clive put on the overcoat, turned up the collar, and left the house wheeling the suitcase. After closing the door, he removed the latex gloves and put them in his pocket. The short walk to where his car was parked on a single yellow line would get him there in time to avoid the attention of any parking wardens once the daytime parking restrictions came in.

Driving in the opposite direction to the heavy traffic coming into the city, he was at the Hampstead house less than twenty minutes later. He hadn’t bothered to contact Alison, as she always seemed to be there. He even suspected she might live there, or at least have access to a room in the large building. Sure enough, she was standing in the doorway as he took the case from the back of the VW.

From her somewhat crumpled appearance in a shiny black dress too short for work, he supposed she hadn’t been to bed yet.

“Morning, Tiger. I see you had a successful night. Come to my office and tell me all about it. I will order coffee”.

He could never quite work her out. She sat on the desk close to his chair, showing far too much leg, and a view straight up her dress that he studiously ignored. Her perfume was still strong from last night, and her heavy make-up was an indication of some kind of party or event having been attended. She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him as he went over what had happened.

In any other circumstances, he would be convinced she was coming on to him. Maybe she was? A bored-looking young woman arrived with the coffee, and Alison lit a cigarette once she had left.

“So, you did the deed and brought home the loot. Well done. You really are an asset”. Clive explained about the leather jacket in the case being bloodstained and that she should dispose of it. She gently kicked his shoe with her left foot. “You have some blood on your shoe, Tiger. Better clean that off before you leave. And leave that overcoat here when you go, it looks ridiculously big on you”.

Walking round to sit at her desk, she opened a file and used a marker pen to draw a large red X over the contents. “It will be all over the news soon. His housekeeper usually goes in just after nine, and she is bound to raise the alarm. But we have our story ready, and the culprit will be apprehended before dark. You can have a few days off if you like. Perhaps that desperate old landlady in the guest house would welcome a return bout with you? Give me a call next Friday, and I will let you know if we have anything else for you”.

On the way back to his flat, he wondered why Alison had mentioned Jane in Stoke-on-Trent. Was it some kind of hint? Or perhaps she was just being bitchy, that was more likely. He parked the car in the next road to his place, then crouched down as if tying his shoelaces and dropped the hard drive through a grating into the street drain.

Inside his flat, it was obvious that Alison had been there last night. The smell of her perfume was still in the air, shop tags from female clothing were lying on the coffee table, and there was a pair of discarded nylon tights in the kitchen bin.

Why had she gone there to change? Nothing about that woman made sense to him.

After a shower and some breakfast, Clive had a sleep until it was almost six. He watched the news when he woke up, and the murder was second on the bulletin. As expected, it was described as a frenzied attack, but they also mentioned a possible burglary and that the killer was probably known to the victim. Sowing the seeds for the arrest of the scapegoat, undoubtedly.

Next he rang Janice, to check how she was and to keep the regular contact going. He had told her to let him know once she moved, but changed his mind and decided to keep her interested before she went up to The Wirral. The phone didn’t ring at her end. Instead, it made a strange beeping noise, followed by a recorded message.

‘The number you are calling doesn’t exist. Please hang up and try again’. He didn’t bother to try.

Now he knew why Alison had mentioned him travelling to Stoke.