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Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. She had always wondered when they would start being able to trace her kills, with their expanding systems of criminal databases and computers, and now it was starting to happen. Let’s have an advance round of applause for our concertmaster, 249 Lucy Albert!” Lucy was horrified. Sheppard, paralysed by the threat. “Not much,” he answered, “and yet about all there is to be known, I fancy. “He wants to settle something on you, I believe.
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