‘Can you describe him?’ Leclerc was writing rapidly, barely finishing one page before turning it over and filling another.

Gabrielle said, ‘Alex…’

‘It’s all right, Gabby,’ said Hoffmann. ‘We need to help them catch this bastard.’ He closed his eyes. He had a clear mental picture of him – almost too clear, staring out wildly across the brightly lit kitchen. ‘He was medium height. Rough-looking. Fifties. Gaunt face. Bald on top. Long, thin grey hair, pulled back in a ponytail. He was wearing a leather coat, or maybe a jacket – I can’t remember which.’ A doubt swam into Hoffmann’s mind. He paused. Leclerc stared at him, waiting for him to continue. ‘I say I’ve never seen him before, but now I come to think of it, I wonder if that’s so. Perhaps I have seen him somewhere – a glimpse in the street, maybe. There was something familiar…’ His voice trailed off.

‘Go on,’ said Leclerc.

Hoffmann thought for a moment, then fractionally shook his head. ‘No. I can’t remember. Sorry. But to be honest – you know, I’m not trying to make a big deal of it – I have had an odd feeling of being watched just lately.’

Gabrielle said in surprise, ‘You never mentioned anything to me about it.’

‘I didn’t want to upset you. And besides, it was never anything I could put my finger on, exactly.’

‘It could be that he’s been watching the house for a while,’ said Leclerc, ‘or following you. You may have seen him in the street without being aware of him. Don’t worry. It’ll come back to you. What was he doing in the kitchen?’

Hoffmann glanced at Gabrielle. He hesitated. ‘He was – sharpening knives.’

‘My God!’ Gabrielle put her hand to her mouth.

‘Would you be able to identify him if you saw him again?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Hoffmann grimly. ‘You bet.’

Leclerc tapped his pen against his notebook. ‘We must issue this description.’ He stood. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said. He went out into the hall.