‘Of course,’ nods Philip Evans. ‘And this is Michael Warren, from the Home Office.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, shaking the thin man’s hand.

Evans points to a big chair with wide arms: ‘Sit down, Pete.’

There is a soft knock on the door and Mrs Evans brings in a tray, setting it down on the low table between us.

‘Help yourself to milk and sugar,’ she says.

‘Thank you.’

There’s a pause, just the wind and Mrs Evans talking to a dog as she retreats back into the kitchen.

Philip Evans says: ‘We’ve got a small problem.’

I stop stirring my coffee and look up.

‘As I mentioned on the phone, there’s been another murder. A nurse, twenty years old, outside her halls of residence. Leeds again.’

I nod: ‘It was on the radio.’

‘Couldn’t even give us a day,’ sighs Evans. ‘Well anyway, enough is enough.’

Michael Warren sits forward on the sofa and places a small portable cassette recorder beside the plastic tray on the coffee table.

‘Enough is enough,’ he echoes and presses play:

A long pause, tape hiss, and then:

‘I’m Jack. I see you are still having no luck catching me. I have the greatest respect for you George, but Lord! You are no nearer catching me now than four years ago when I started. I reckon your boys are letting you down, George. They can’t be much good can they?

‘The only time they came near catching me was a few months back in Chapeltown when I was disturbed. Even then it was a uniformed copper not a detective.

‘I warned you in March that I’d strike again. Sorry it wasn’t Bradford. I did promise that but I couldn’t get there. I’m not quite sure where I’ll strike again but it will be definitely some time this year, maybe September, October, even sooner if I get the chance. I am not sure where, maybe Manchester, I like it there, there’s plenty of them knocking about. They never learn do they George? I bet you’ve warned them, but they never listen.’