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you something? I mean, I shouldn’t be using this meeting to ask you for a favour.’
    Megan had never seen Delva upset before. The confident, cheerful persona had fallen away.
    â€˜I’ve been getting these awful letters’. Delva was staring out of the window at the narrowboats, their lights piercing the twilight. Megan thought she could see tears in the corners of her eyes.
    â€˜I didn’t take much notice at first. Newsreaders always attract nutters. It goes with the territory and most of them are harmless. But this guy is sick – really sick.’ She turned to Megan, biting her lip. ‘I’ve told the police but they don’t seem very interested. It’s driving me crazy.’
    â€˜Have you got them here?’
    Delva pulled a briefcase from underneath her desk. She turned it upside down, spilling out a sheaf of letters in a rainbow of different coloured envelopes. The only colour missing was white.
    â€˜I don’t want you to have to read all these,’ Delva said, ‘but it gives you an idea of how many I’ve been getting.’
    â€˜Have they been fingerprinted?’
    â€˜Yes – I mean the police dusted the first couple I got but there was nothing.’
    â€˜So, either he’s known to them and is smart enough to keep his paws off the paper or he’s one of these rubber fetishists who likes to wear a pair of Marigolds while he’s jacking off.’
    Delva looked at Megan in astonishment. ‘How did you know – about the masturbating, I mean?’
    â€˜Oh, it’s very common with these sicko letter writers. I remember reading about a woman who did the same job as you at an American cable station. She got letters from a bloke who said he used to spray the TV set whenever she read the news.’
    â€˜Ugh!’ Delva smiled in spite of herself.
    â€˜I know. When you read about it happening to someone else it seems laughable. But when it’s happening to you, it’s all horribly threatening.’
    Megan opened a pink envelope on the top of the pile. ‘Is this the most recent one?’ She peered at the smudged postmark.
    â€˜Yes – it came this morning.’
    Megan unfolded the large white sheet of paper. It was almost completely covered by a photograph which had been cut from a glossy magazine and glued down.
    The woman was naked apart from a bodice made of black leather thongs. She squatted above the prone figure of a man, aiming a jet of urine over his face. Underneath the photograph was a scribbled message. It described the act of masturbation which had apparently gone on as the words were being written and urged Delva to urinate in the centre cubicle of the ladies’ toilets on the first floor of the BTV building immediately after that evening’s news bulletin.
    â€˜Do any of these others specify locations at BTV?’ Megan asked.
    â€˜Er … yes – two or three. There’s one in particular where he was asking me to rub myself against one of the machines in an editing suite. He actually wrote “Suite A”.’
    â€˜So you don’t need me to tell you that this guy is someone who’s been in the building. Could even be someone who works here.’ Megan looked at Delva, wondering if she already had an idea of who it might be.
    If Delva did suspect someone, there was no hint of it in her face.
    â€˜Is there anyone at work you might have offended?’ Megan went on. ‘Or maybe someone who tried to flirt with you and got a put-down?’
    â€˜The only person I’ve ever consciously offended was a security guard who told me off for parking in a loading bay – but he left a few months ago. BTV put things like security and catering out to tender and when the new firm took over they didn’t re-appoint him.’
    â€˜Hmmm, a security guard.’ Megan instantly thought of the leering, impertinent man on reception. ‘The spelling and the