Sunday 7 July 1985. Rachel couldn’t wait to get home to watch the Wimbledon Men’s Final. Her money was on Boris Becker. What a brilliant player! He might only be 17, but he had that extra special talent – genius – whatever it was -  that made him a winner. But she was late. Gran talked so much. Repeating the same old stories over and over again. It was so difficult to get a word in edgeways! But Rachel still loved old Bessie, even though staying the whole morning had made her late for the tennis.

There was no alternative. The towpath was the only way. It would cut at least 15 minutes off the walk, and she would be in time to see – what – the second set? Rachel weighed up the chances of being the Towpath Murderer’s fourth victim. It had been two month...

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