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Prologue

Swiss Cottage, North London

Percy Hutchins had few vices. He had even fewer pleasures in life. One of them was most certainly his bi-monthly visit to the centre of London. He would take half a day off work, meet with his friends, enjoy a sumptuous meal and then retire to the bar for a few post dinner drinks before heading home to sleep the sleep of the just. Today had undoubtedly been an exceptional pleasure. Two of his former colleagues, long since retired, had been able to join him for the festivities. They had sat and reminisced about their successes and failures over the years, as well as swapping anecdotes and generally putting the world to rights.

He was feeling in particularly good form as he left the Bakerloo Line station. He sauntered along Finchley Road in no particular hurry and then down Goldhurst Terrace. It was dark now, but the road was well lit and he knew every inch of the pavement beneath his feet. He had lived here for almost twenty years and walked along this road twice a day to and from work. He breathed in the cool night air, catching just the occasional vague smell of something nasty coming up from the drains.

A rusty old beige Volkswagen Beetle was parked ahead of him on the other side of the road. It looked quite typical of the sort of car to be found here these days: a little run-down, like a lot of the properties. He watched as the young driver got out of it and sprinted away from him. Hutchins was sure he was no older than about twenty five, from the speed at which he ran and the agility with which he dodged an oncoming car as he crossed the road. Although two hundred yards ahead of him, he was fairly sure that he had seen the youngster turn into one of the gardens close to his house.

There were now so many new people in the street that the stranger could have been visiting anyone. He might even live there in one of the newly converted apartments. His own house, on the other hand, had seen no such renovation and was still the same original Victorian three storey structure that it had always been. It was certainly in need of decorating and then there were the windows which needed replacing. Double glazing would make such a difference. There had been a time when it felt small; that was when his wife was still alive and all four children were at home. Much too big for him now, of course, but come his retirement he would sell it and move to somewhere quieter.