It was Tuesday evening when Wendy finally summoned up the courage to visit Robert Ludford's flat. The recording equipment tucked safely in her bag, the microphone clipped snugly inside the flap, she pressed the doorbell and waited for him to come to the door.
When he did, he seemed to immediately register Wendy's unease. Perhaps he was expecting it, she thought. What if he was onto her?
‘Everything OK, sweetheart?’ he said, placing his hand on her shoulder.
‘Yes, sorry. Absolutely fine. Stressful day at work.’
‘Ah, the murders?’
‘Yes. There's been another victim.’
‘Oh?’ Robert said, seeming genuinely surprised.
‘But I can't really talk about it. Can I come in? It's freezing out here.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Sorry. Do come in. I'll put the kettle on.’
Settling on the armchair in the corner of the living room, Wendy felt this was the best spot to sit in, in order to get a good view of the whole room. If Ludford really was as dangerous as he seemed, she didn't want to leave anything to chance. She loosened the locks on the window behind her, saving herself a few valuable seconds should she need to make a quick escape.
‘What are you doing?’
Wendy jumped. ‘Robert! Oh, sorry. Nothing.’
‘Were you trying to open the window?’
‘No. Erm... yes. I'm a bit hot.’
‘You were freezing cold not twenty seconds ago.’
‘I know. That time of the month, you know.’ The line guaranteed to stop any conversation with a male dead in its tracks.
‘Oh, OK. Er, do you want sugar?’
Wendy remembered her mother and aunt giving her lots of old wives' tales and practical remedies for alleviating the symptoms of the menstrual cycle, but she didn't recall sugar being one.
‘In your tea,’ he explained. ‘Do you want sugar?’
‘Oh. Yes, one please.’
Wendy watched closely as Ludford returned to the kitchen. Not wanting to leave her seat for fear of him catching her mid-snoop yet again, Wendy scanned the room from her padded lookout post. As her crooked head guided her eyes along the spines of Ludford's books, she was jolted back upright by the ringing of a phone. She heard him answer.
‘Hello? Ah, Nigel! I've been meaning to…’ Ludford's words trailed off as he kicked the door closed. The satisfying click of the latch in its socket triggered a sigh from Wendy. Realising that this was her chance, she jumped from her seat and skipped over to the side dresser, whereupon she started rifling through the drawers in search of any incriminating evidence.
She knew she was looking for something which would either prove or disprove – she still wasn't quite sure which — the theory that Ludford was involved with the serial killings, but she hadn't quite bargained on what stared back at her from the third drawer down on the left. Half of it glistened silver under the angle-poise lamp, the other half glued to a filthy napkin with a dark reddish-brown dried adhesive. Of course, Wendy knew exactly what was staring back at her. You didn't become a DS without knowing a bloodstained knife when you saw one.
Skipping back across the room, she grabbed her handbag, extracted a handkerchief of her own from within it and wrapped the soiled knife and attached handkerchief carefully, being careful not to make direct contact with it, before placing it in her bag and quietly closing the drawer.
The rules of all good thriller films dictated that Ludford would walk through the door at that moment. In reality, it seemed like an age. Wendy sat back in her now-useless lookout spot, desperate to launch herself through the half-open window and run back home through the streets. Doing so would alarm Ludford and he'd soon find out she had the knife. Then who would be his next victim? No, it was too risky. She would have to sit it out and wait for him to come back into the room before making her excuses and leaving.
When the age finally passed and Ludford returned to the living room, he froze on the spot.
‘Jesus, Wendy. You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you all right?’
‘I think... I don't really feel very well, actually.’
‘Oh. You must be coming down with a fever. That must be why you wanted the window open all of a sudden. Here, let me take your temperature.’
Ludford walked over to Wendy to place his hand on her forehead.
‘No! I mean... I'm sure I'll be fine. I just need to go home and rest.’
‘OK, leave your car here and I'll give you a lift back.’
‘No, no. It's fine. I'm only round the corner. Please, I'll drive.’
‘Are you sure? You look terrible.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
Locking the car door immediately, Wendy started the car and headed straight for the station.