And then, as he’d stood there in the lane considering what to do next, a door had opened, spilling a wedge of light across the garden. Naysmith shrank back into the darkness for a second before turning and walking away, back up the road. Close, much too close, came the crunch of footsteps on gravel behind him, but fortunately the man turned right when he emerged from his driveway, and set off towards the village.

It had been unexpected, but there was also a profound surge of excitement in that moment. He hadn’t been spotted – and even if he were, he had done nothing wrong . . . yet. This might be a chance to learn something useful. Quietly, he turned and walked down the lane after the target, straining to see him in the gloom. The light was failing now, and there were no street lights out here. He followed at a distance – far enough that his footsteps wouldn’t be heard – but when they reached the trees, he lost sight of the figure in the shadows. Walking quicker, he’d hurried under those dark branches, padding along the road as it angled slightly to the right. Then, as the cheery lights of the village came into view, he’d spotted the man again, making his way along the road and turning aside at the pub.

It would have been a natural point to turn back – to go and look at the house – but Naysmith had walked a little further. Approaching the sound of conversation and laughter that drifted out from the pub, he stopped and noted the chalkboard sign propped by the roadside: Pub Quiz Every Wednesday.

Afterwards, walking back towards his car, he’d passed once more through the lonely tunnel of trees. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and, as he glanced up at the dark branches, he’d noticed the towering railway embankment, silhouetted against the sky.

That was on Wednesday. Now, he sat on top of the embankment, hidden in the foliage, gazing down on that same spot. The man would have to pass through here on his way to the pub, and again on his way home. Those old pilings would offer a place of concealment, right beside the road, and having the river so close was another advantage.

Naysmith remained there for a while, studying the ground below him and fixing it in his mind, noting which point on the embankment commanded the best views of the road. It finally felt right.

Satisfied, he turned and made his way slowly back along the railway line, learning the ground. The next time he came here it would be dark.

23

Wednesday, 25 July

Wednesday had come, and Naysmith sat at his desk, restless. Since that first encounter in Winchester, this had developed into a challenging hunt and the work he’d put into it heightened his anticipation for the inevitable climax. After exercising so much patience it was now somehow galling to wait even a few hours more. But he forced himself, deciding that he would work through until lunchtime, however difficult it was to concentrate. He sat in on a tiresome conference call, oblivious to the distant voices, watching the clock tick round towards noon. Outside his window, grey clouds gathered slowly in a dark sky. The weather was finally turning and the forecast was for rain that evening. In theory this was a good thing – rain could wash away all sorts of evidence – but working in the wet brought its own risks, especially at night, and that meant he would have to take even greater care than usual.

A little after one o’clock he sent his last email and slowly closed the laptop. It was finally time to get started.

He’d replenished the cardboard box in the garage over the last few weeks – quietly picking up items here and there, always going to different shops, always paying in cash. Although seemingly random, everything had been deliberately selected to mask his identity, from the lined gloves that would pick up no fingerprints on their insides, to the shoes that were not quite his size. Every item had been meticulously wiped clean, and he disciplined himself to wear gloves even here. It was this attention to detail that elevated him above the amateurs, ensuring his continued success in the game.

Stooping, he dragged the cardboard box into the middle of the floor and opened it to inspect the contents – something he hadn’t been able to do while Kim was in the house. Carefully, he drew out the bag containing the clothes – all new, all in dark colours, own-brand items bought from the supermarkets. There was a cheap wristwatch – a couple of minutes fast – that he would throw away afterwards and, in light of the weather, a couple of large towels. In a second bag he placed the usual bottle of bleach, travel wipes and spare refuse sacks. Finally, he drew out a large metal wrench, which he hefted thoughtfully in his hand. It was heavy and solid, about eighteen inches long, with a shaped grip that wouldn’t slip through his gloves. He considered it for a moment, tightening it up so that the jaws wouldn’t rattle, then placed it in with the clothes.

Satisfied, he transferred both bags into a thick black refuse sack that he took outside. Opening the boot of his car, he placed the sack inside, next to the flat parcel containing his alternate number plates, and the white envelope from Severn Beach. He’d retrieved them from their hiding place on his way home the day before – now everything was ready.

Back in the house, he went upstairs and shaved. There was an art to deception – the more you behaved as though something was real, the more real it seemed to others. He wasn’t going to a networking event in London, but he was certainly going to get ready as though he was. Rinsing his face, he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, running a hand across his smooth chin. Smart clothes were laid out on the bed next door, including the trousers that Kim had said for him to wear – and he would be wearing them when it was done, when he was on his way home. He studied his smiling reflection for a moment, then turned away.

The shower felt hot when he first stepped in, but after a few minutes he was comfortable with the temperature, closing his eyes and breathing in the steam. He washed slowly, allowing the calming water to cascade over him, rinsing away the loose skin cells and hair follicles. There was a purpose to every part of his preparation.

Back in the bedroom, he dried himself and folded his smart clothes into a bag, along with an appropriate pair of shoes. Placing the bag by the bedroom door, he selected some casual clothes and got dressed – tomorrow, these items would be folded and returned to their drawer without Kim ever noticing they’d been worn. It was strange to think how he’d adapted his routine – a routine he’d meticulously followed for years – just to accommodate her. He pulled on a pair of shoes from the back of his wardrobe, then gathered up the bag of clothes and took it downstairs. Satisfied that everything was ready, he went through to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich.

By four o’clock he was driving through Salisbury, following the dual carriageway that skirted the northern edge of the city centre. The cathedral spire loomed bleak and tall against the dark clouds, a grey finger of warning raised against the approaching storm. Naysmith scowled up at the sky – it wasn’t raining yet, but the weather wouldn’t hold for long. As the A36 climbed out eastward into the Wiltshire countryside, he turned onto a small side road and drove for a mile or so until he found a quiet lane. Stopping the car, he got out and stood on the tarmac, listening.

There was no sound. And he would hear any approaching vehicles before they got close. Satisfied, he retrieved the flat parcel from the boot of the car and crouched down to change his number plates.

The first spots of rain appeared on the windscreen as he joined the motorway. By the time he reached Winchester, it had become torrential. Naysmith pulled over and sat for a moment, listening to the heavy drops drumming on the roof. Hopefully it would ease a little as the evening drew in – he didn’t mind getting wet, but it would be very frustrating if the weather stopped the target from going out. He shook his head. There was no sense in worrying about that now. He took out his phone and sent Kim a text telling her not to wait up, then switched off the handset and stowed it in the glove compartment. Everything was in place. He felt the familiar whisper of excitement ripple over him, a fleeting glimpse of the ecstasy to come.