June

George almost exploded. But he was too professional to give in to his feelings. Instead he set about to get every guarantee there would not be any tricks that might endanger June in the least.

The police sent a car round to June's house with an officer dressed in overalls, who could easily masquerade as a plumber, to investigate the building. On ringing the doorbell he noticed that the front door lock was of a very simple kind, the sort of lock any master key would unlock without too much trouble. He pulled up his nose at the sight.

June was very suspicious at first, although the officer's identification seemed above board. "Why don't you call Mr Jillings while I get my gear from the car?" Jack Barnes, the officer, suggested.

June did and was reassured by his voice. George didn't mince matters but told her plainly who and what they might be up against - though he stopped short of mentioning murder. June understood, and welcomed Jack into her place. He found a small Edwardian house with a long corridor that ran from the hall to a tiny room at the back with a solid wooden door into the garden. In the corridor there were doors into the living-room, the kitchen and the cellar, and there was an arch giving to the stairs.

He first opened the back door. A few steps went down into a rather long garden that was surprisingly well-kept, he thought. At the back of the garden there was a fence with a door in it. The thing looked rather flimsy, in his opinion.

June explained that the door gave to a narrow path running between the houses from a side street. It was hardly ever used, and as there were disused bins and an old and broken bicycle in there, it wasn't too attractive either.

Jack walked to the fence, opened the door and had a look. He nodded. "Let's go back inside," he said.

The police officer spent a considerable time checking the lay of the land. "This may all be completely unnecessary," he said when he was ready. "But then again, there is a chance that your address is known and that you will be attacked. We will take every possible measure to ensure you will not come to harm, and we do want to apprehend the men involved. You will be watched, for a considerable time, if need be, and we will put up a few cameras, both inside the house and in the road. It will mean that you'll have to dress in the bathroom."

"It makes me feel very uncomfortable," June said.

"I know. I'm afraid it is the best thing we can do, and moving won't help much if you are an intended victim."

June nodded. "Yes, I understand that. Still... I do hope you'll find them soon."

"We'll arrange for Rachel Mitchell, one of our lady officers, to come and work in your firm; she lives in your neighbourhood and you will go to work and return home together. I am very sorry for the inconvenience."

Jack gave some more details. Then he went to work and fitted a microphone in the hall that was strong enough to record outside noises and speech, put up a few cameras, made a few smudges on his trouser legs and left.

A little later the police parked an old banger almost across the road from June's house. They'd rigged it with a small, hi-tech camera to keep an eye on the road and June's front door.

June began to feel very uncomfortable indeed. When she'd been at Mary-Anne's party, it had been unpleasant, but now she understood it to be truly dangerous. She hoped the police would find the men soon, so she could go on with her life...

Meanwhile the police sent a couple of officers to check the surveillance cameras around Norwood Junction tube station. On one of the cameras the footage showed that Mr Brown had gone into the station and spent a couple of hours lurking there. And he did not remain alone either; Mr De Vere showed up after a very short time. They carefully saved a few copies; it increased their anxiety about June's welfare considerably.

George had spent most of the morning at the police station. When there was nothing more for him to do he went home. There was a brief he had to concentrate on, but he found it an impossible task. Joan's portrait didn't give any solace, either. He just kept hearing June's frightened voice and seeing her face in his mind, her wide mouth and the half smile she'd flashed him a couple of times at Mary-Anne's party. At one moment he even found himself wondering what she looked like under those decent clothes, and then he got so angry with himself that he actually did get some work done.

June's weekend would have been uneventful but for the intense feelings of discomfort. She didn't manage to settle down to any structured activity. She found herself walking round and looking surreptitiously out of the window, but nothing happened, and she just entirely wasted her weekend.

That Monday morning someone rang her bell some five minutes before she was about to leave. June looked through the visor in the door and saw a cheerful young woman standing on her doorstep. She remembered Jack's words and opened the door for her. "Hi June," the woman said as she stepped inside. "I'm Rachel Mitchell."

Indoors she showed her identification, so June needn't worry, she said. "And we are convinced the men that we're after will not attack you in the streets. They're after a different kind of fun." When June had put on her coat they left together. They walked to the tube station and disappeared into London's underbelly.

To the squad's intense excitement the cameras registered the gentlemen they were looking for that very afternoon. They carried rucksacks and they wore hats, but the cameras were good enough not to leave the police in any doubt. They walked up to June's house, looking over their shoulders on entering her garden, and the De Vere character slipped a key into June's front door. It took him some time, but he managed to open the door without trouble. The two men went inside.

As soon as they'd come into view, the police came into action. They started recording their conversations, alerted the two civilian-type cars already there and they sent five more cars around to June's neighbourhood. Their quarry was far too important for them to run the slightest risk of an escape. They kept close contact with the station where the conversation of the two men was taped and listened to with horror, since the gentlemen, who were apparently somewhat on edge, had embarked on a violent quarrel about their recent activities in which they accused the other of all the things they'd done they shouldn't have. The list was gruesome and included the murders the police had not yet been able to link to them, plus a couple of rapes, one of which hadn't come off according to plan, it seemed. A lot to follow up, they decided with grim satisfaction.

The men were seen ascending the stairs, and going into June's bedroom. A little later they came down again without their rucksacks. At one point they had apparently found Jane's small selection of wine, and after some time the police heard them clink glasses and outline the plan for the evening. When they had finished, the listeners wiped the perspiration from their foreheads. "Thank God we were put on the right track," Morrison said. "Let's keep this from that young woman, for God's sake. I think we've got enough on them now. Let's go for them!"

The police drove into the street with howling sirens. They had taken enough measures to ensure there would be no escape. As they had expected, the intruders made for freedom at the back of the house. The back door opened outward. It was really strong, though, and the key had been removed from the lock by the lady officer that morning. There was nothing for it but to force it open. The control room heard them count down and then the uniformed men and the officer in mufti who'd assembled in the garden saw them come crashing onto the terrace in an untidy heap. John De Vere landed on his shoulder, and they could actually hear his collarbone snap. Bob Brown got up and tried to run for it, but to no avail. He was tripped up and handcuffed. A body-search revealed a flick-knife and a couple of knuckle dusters; John, who lay moaning and writhing in an untidy heap, carried a revolver.

When Bob was on his feet again he stood looking at the policemen, panting. "I demand that you let me go," he said. "I didn't do anything!"

Jay Morrison looked at him with distaste. "We will take you to the police station for questioning," he said. "And when, if ever, we let you go, you will be so old... Forget it, baby."

"I should have knifed that man at the party," Brown said. "The bastard!"

"Right you are!" the senior officer said. "Off with you!"

They marched their catch to a police van and drove to the station. A couple of them went through the house to pick up the men's rucksacks and see what damage, if any, they had done. June's wardrobe had been gone through. Her underwear was on the floor, and there was a coil of rope on the bed, together with a piece of cloth obviously meant as a blindfold. A female officer tidied June's clothes and made her bedroom presentable again, while the others removed the men's stuff. They left when they'd gone through the entire house.

Jack Barnes stayed behind to let in the men they'd called to replace the back door. While he was waiting for them to arrive he removed the cameras he'd put up. Then he tidied up the mess the men had made in the kitchen. They'd upset a glass of wine, and treated themselves to some food. A little more courtesy would have been in place, Jack thought.

The builders came twenty minutes later and set to work efficiently and fast. They made something of a mess, too, but they meticulously cleaned up after themselves.

At the station Jay called George and told him all danger to June was over now the two men had been arrested. George felt his chest swell with relief.

"Thank God," he said. "The possibility of her coming a cropper has been on my mind all the time. Do you think you've got enough on them?"

"Oh yes, we have," Jay said. "More than enough!" He briefly told George about the men's quarrel - yes, with a full list of names, thank goodness - and George echoed his own thoughts when he said June had better not learn about it.

When Jay had rung off, George looked at Joan's portrait. "Danger's over," he said, and smiled. Joan smiled back, a little Mona Lisa like, George thought. He nodded at her and left the room.

Jack Barnes stayed put until June returned that evening in the company of Ms Mitchell, who'd been good company. June really liked her a lot. It was a pity they'd not met before, she thought; they could have become fast friends. "Jack?" Rachel said. "What's up?"

"We've got them," Jack said. "Their game's up, and you're safe, June."

"Are you sure? There is no chance there are more of them? And they won't be let off?"

"They quarrelled and gave all the information we want, and we have it all on tape, all over and above board. And no, there were no other people in it. But it's a damn good thing you chanced upon old Jillings. If you hadn't..." He suddenly remembered he wasn't supposed to talk about it, and shook his head. "All people need a little luck in their lives and apparently you were on, this time!"

June returned a rather crooked smile. Then she burst into tears. The tension of the last four days and the relief at being out of it were too much. It took Rachel Mitchell quite some time to calm her a little.

"Do you want me to stay tonight?" she asked. "Just in case you get overcome again?"

"No... But would you mind staying a little longer and having dinner with me? I'll order some Chinese takeaway."

Rachel didn't mind. Jack left, and the women had dinner together. June's place wasn't big enough to boast a dining room; she had a small dining table with four chairs in the living-room. They had almost finished when the doorbell rang. Rachel went to the door and found George waiting on the steps. She recognised him immediately and let him in.

"Hello June," he said as he entered the living-room. "I just wanted to see with my own eyes you're alright." He smiled at her, and she felt unaccountably happy he'd come to see her, and beamed at him.

"Please sit down," she said. "We've almost finished our dinner."

"Do go on and don't mind me, please," George said. He sat down in one of the easy chairs, rather dwarfing it but not caring, and looked at the women, and then around the room. It was quite a feminine room, quite unlike his quarters, he thought. But it was well-cared-for, tidy and friendly, with light-cream wallpaper and raw silk curtains. Its furnishing were of good quality, and he felt quite at home there.

In one corner of the room her oboe stood next to a music stand that held a Vivaldi score. He briefly wondered how good she was. She might well have been modest about her skills, he expected. There were a few portraits on the wall. One of them showed a couple in Edwardian clothes, and the other a young woman with a sweet face that looked a lot like June, but without the wide mouth, and with auburn hair. George guessed she might be June's mother, or perhaps a sister - definitely a blood relation.

He looked at the two women eat. June had excellent table manners, and Rachel's weren't half bad, either. He smiled a little to himself. Joan had always commented on it, and he had heard her do so so often that he'd started noticing it, too. Joan would certainly have made some comment as soon as she was out of earshot, sometimes scathing, sometimes rather friendly; it depended on the way she felt about the people involved. He wondered what she'd have thought of June. She'd have liked her, he supposed. She had good manners and a friendly disposition, and he didn't think Joan would have been fooled by June's nervous appearance.

After Joan's death he had met one woman he liked, but when he tried to hear what Joan could have thought of her, he had to admit to himself she wouldn't have judged her too favourably... It was enough to make him put an end to seeing her.

The ladies finished their meal and went into the kitchen to clear the things away. Would George like a cup of coffee? He would, and after some minutes the women returned with a tray with three cups and some biscuits. George drank his coffee first and then inquired after June's mood and state of mind.

June pulled a face at him. "I feel completely bewildered, really," she said. "I don't really know what's happened. It seems that man's been arrested, and my back door had to be replaced. But that's about all I know. And I must have run some big risk, but I'm not quite sure of what, and the police apparently were very worried that it could be something very bad... Rape, probably." She stared into her cup for a moment. "I felt very, very afraid, really, and not knowing of what didn't make it any better. And now I don't have to be afraid any longer, it feels as if I've just finished my studies and there's only emptiness left, you know?"

She shook her head. "I told you about John's slander campaign, and that I thought I'd effectively got rid of it, and then this awful man appeared. I hope it won't begin again now but I'm none too confident it won't. I'm glad I met you at that party. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't."

George gave her a grim smile. "It's certainly a good thing you sat down in that chair. If you hadn't you'd probably be dead by now."

June felt her hair stand on end. "Was it that bad?" she whispered.

George nodded. "It was. The man you met and that John De Vere character were in it together, and they were lurking in the tube station, waiting for you. I think you wouldn't have made it home. They're sure to get a life sentence. You were not their first quarry, I'm afraid."

June sat looking at him as if she saw a ghost. She remained silent for quite some time. Then she said, "I'm glad I didn't know. It's unbelievable, really."

"Yes," George said. "Psychopaths are always impossible to understand. You'd better not try. If half possible, try and forget about them. I know it's easier said than done, but still... Playing the oboe seems a much better idea." He smiled at her.

June nodded dubiously. "It does, but I need some peace of mind to make it sound like music at all." She passed her hands over her face. "I suppose I'll feel unsafe for a long time."

George nodded. "Yes," he said. "I don't think that can be helped. You'll be asked to make a statement to the police, for one thing. But you can call me anytime you need a human voice to reassure you, or the police for all that. Jay Morrison will take care of you, too - and I promise to come running whenever you think I should. My landline number is on my card, and this is my mobile one." He wrote it down on a piece of paper from his wallet and handed it to her.

June suddenly broke into a smile. "You are a liar, aren't you?" she said. "You don't live in the neighbourhood at all! What made you see me home that night?"

"Gut feeling," George said. "And I just like your company. It prolonged our time together for forty-five minutes. Will that do?"

He looked at June gravely. It gave her a tingling feeling down her spine, a little odd but not at all unpleasant. "Yes," she said. "It will."

"Good," George said, and this time he did smile. He got up. "I think I'd better go home now. It will be early days tomorrow. Do you think you'll manage to squeeze some rest from the night?"

"Yes," June said. "I do think so. I'm dead tired. Thank you very much, the both of you. I do appreciate what you did for me no end!"

They shook hands, and Rachel and George left together. June stood in the doorway and watched them go. Then she went through the house to check the doors and windows and to see if the two intruders hadn't left anything behind, but the police had been too thorough for that. When she'd satisfied herself everything was in order she went to bed. She switched off the light and lay waiting for sleep to come, which it did quite fast, with the image of George's earnest face on her mind.

George drove home slowly. He felt he had to talk to Joan, but Joan's face was occasionally replaced by June's in his thoughts. Blast. He'd only seen June twice, once at the party and just now, and she'd been under a considerable amount of stress both times. She hadn't given him any reason to believe she even as much as liked him. She trusted him alright, he thought. He knew hardly anything about her. But that smile, that wide-mouthed smile, and those eyes... Come on, George, old fool, he thought. Be your age!

He went straight into his study when he came home, and sat down at his desk. Joan smiled at him from her frame on the wall opposite. She'd been his sweetheart at school and he'd loved her the way he'd thought you could only do once in your life. He'd been devastated when she died...

"Joan," he said, "I think I'm infatuated with June. If you think I shouldn't, please give me some sign!"

Joan didn't, and the telephone rang instead. George picked up the receiver to be greeted by Mary-Anne's happy voice. She'd planned a meal for the weekend, and would George come? He would, certainly. Then he told Mary-Anne about all that had happened since he'd left the party.

"Oh, no!" Mary-Anne said when he'd finished. "That explains things. She was very pale and quiet. The poor girl! That's absolutely horrible!"

"Yes," George said. "It is. I think she'll be alright, though. I do hope so!"

"I don't know her very well," Mary-Anne said. "She usually looks cheerful enough. What's she like?"

"She's quiet and well-behaved, and she has excellent table manners. She speaks good English, plays the oboe and -"

"Thank you, Joan. What does George think of her?"

George started to giggle. Mary-Anne had been a friend of Joan's; she'd befriended George, too, but she really knew Joan very well, possibly even better than he did, in some respects. And she was right, of course. He did sound exactly like Joan.