The killer might not have obtained the thrills she sought by carrying out her nefarious mission using a crossbow, but the slaying of Qamar Yunosov had a benign spin-off for her mental state. Her warped mind needed the satisfaction of a kill to still its incessant unsatiated and restless need for blood. So, she could sit in tranquillity, contemplating the Thames at night. As she watched, fascinated by the coloured lights reflecting and shimmering on the surface ripples of the river, she ran back over the evening’s events.
First, the kill. She had to admit that her overlord had planned the hit to the minutest detail. He had correctly foreseen Yunosov’s craving for a cigarette in the interval, and since smoking was f*******n in the hall, he would have taken the nearest exit from backstage. T
