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Emilia drummed her fingers on the wheel, frustrated and anxious.

She had been camped out at the petrol station for four hours now and still there was no sign of him.

Curious as to why the tracking signal had hardly moved since last night, she’d driven straight to Dearham Farm from the mortuary, only to be deterred by the high chain-link fences and perimeter guards.

Executing a swift U-turn, she’d retreated to the nearby Shell station to ponder her next move.

Would her plan still work or had something already gone wrong?

She had terrible visions of the Dutchman’s jacket lying discarded in the dirt as he crept away via some secret route, but now to her immeasurable relief, he appeared to be on the move again.

The little dot was gliding fast away from the vast swathe of green on the digital map, heading down Swanwick Lane towards the heart of the village.

‘Come on, come on …’

She craned left and right, peering through her windscreen.

Suddenly Emilia was desperate to lay her eyes on her assailant again, to convince herself that he was still unaware of her subterfuge.

The flashing dot was almost on top of her now, so exhaling slowly, she turned the key in the ignition, sliding the gears into first.

And then, suddenly, there he was. A loud roar presaged his arrival, then the Scania truck swept past the Shell garage, his dark, angular profile visible in the driver’s seat.

Offering up a silent prayer, Emilia eased off the handbrake, speeding across the empty forecourt and onto the road.

Fifty yards ahead the truck lumbered on its way, its driver utterly oblivious to the fact that he now had a tail, one that would stick like glue to him until his inevitable downfall and disgrace.

Things had not gone totally to plan for Emilia – she had hoped to investigate Dearham Farm herself, before calling in the police, but the high-level security had put paid to that.

Still, it was better to adapt to a changing situation than mess things up in the pursuit of perfection.

Life was never straightforward and you had to take your victories where you could find them.

And what a victory it would be. This moment had been fifteen years in the making and Emilia intended to enjoy herself, her eyes straying to the Nikon camera nestling in the passenger seat.

How sweet it would be to capture the moment of realization, when the man who’d tried to crush her all those years ago discovered that he had been outwitted by the woman he failed to destroy.

If it was a good photo, Emilia might even frame it, a permanent testament to her cunning, persistence and nerve.

Revenge, redemption, rebirth was now only a matter of minutes away, the unwitting trafficker enjoying what would prove to be his last few moments of freedom.

Smiling to herself, Emilia leaned towards the phone cradle, keeping her eyes firmly on the truck as she punched in three digits – 999.

It was time to set the trap.