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worn, which might help the forensic scientists link them if they found any shoeprints. She waited for two minutes before prodding Henry hard in the ribs, but there was no response.
    She now moved with total purpose. Picking up Henry’s key card, her file of papers and her handbag, she quietly opened the door, listening carefully for anyone in the corridor.
    Back in her room, she dropped the file and handbag on the bed, picked up the two holdalls with her equipment and went straight back to Henry’s room three doors away. Once inside, she put the holdalls on the floor, unlocked them and spread their contents neatly in front of her.
    There was a checklist in her head that she was about to tick off. But before paying attention to it, she stood to one side, pulled off her shoes and removed her own clothes down to her plain white cotton bra and pants, and sheer tights. She’d be undressing Henry in a moment and she didn’t want his clothing fibres on her suit nor her fibres on him. She carefully folded the jacket and skirt along with her blouse and placed them in a plastic suit bag from one of the holdalls. The shoes went into another plastic bag.
    First on her mental list were the drinks glasses. She took them to the bathroom and washed them thoroughly, dried them and put one back on the shelf next to two other larger tumblers. She then poured a shot of vodka from the Belvedere bottle into the second glass and put the bottle back in the fridge. She tossed a couple of ice cubes and a slice of lemon into the glass and put it back on the small table. Finally, she pushed the chair where she had been sitting back against the wall. Now, for all intents and purposes, even if Henry had a vague memory of her in the room, which was unlikely, the single glass and chair would contradict that memory. He had been drinking alone.
    The next task was Henry’s clothes. She peeled off his trousers, and, with a little more difficulty, his pullover. Henry had already removed his linen jacket and scarf and hung them on the back of a desk chair, while he’d tossed his baseball cap onto the desk. Amelia made Henry comfortable and looked briefly at his body, now wearing only boxers, a T-shirt and socks. Although she had little physical interest in men, she still appreciated his physique; he was clearly a man who looked after himself.
    From her stock of items on the floor, she took a new plastic comb, removed its wrapper and combed it through Henry’s hair, making sure that there were some of his hairs trapped in it. Henry’s hair was fashionably short, but nevertheless, a few hairs settled in the teeth of the comb, quite sufficient for her purposes. If she planted too many it would raise suspicion; too few and they might not be found. It was a tricky balance but she would rather risk their not being found than overdo it. She placed the comb in a ziplock bag and sealed it.
    The next part needed great care and of all her preparations, was the one most likely to wake Henry, which was one further reason she had given him a generous dose. From a large plastic bag on the floor, she took out a mannequin’s forearm and right hand, the fingers complete with a set of false fingernails that she had glued on earlier. She walked over to the bed where Henry was stretched out on his back, snoring gently. Pushing his head to his right, she took the mannequin hand by the wrist and pulled the fingernails slowly but firmly down Henry’s neck, making sure that the scratches she made were deep enough to bleed – she wanted both skin cells and blood to be transferred. Before returning the hand and arm to the bag, she inspected the nails closely to make sure she could see sufficient material trapped under them.
    Another large plastic bag contained a side-handle baton, an excellent two-handed weapon for delivering powerful and accurate blows at close quarters. Specifically chosen from the range of options available, this model had an extendable grip that slid from