I have a rule or a code: no matter how annoying the kid is or how stupid a woman has been in her choice of husband or profession, I won’t kill them, no matter how good the money is. But if you have a guy you want taken out, I’m your girl as long as he’s earned that bloody end, of course. I’m not a complete monster.

And yes, I was diagnosed as having a borderline personality disorder, but I’m not a full-on psychopath. My disorder was brought on by trauma, which is why I only kill bad guys. I like getting payback for those who can’t do it themselves, and yes, I do get paid extremely well for doing something I really, really enjoy. Don’t judge.

Killing someone is, in some ways, a little like seduction. You need to take your time. Let them come to you. Make them feel like they’re in control. And when the moment is right, you take their breath away.

As the woman at the window watched the activity on the beach, she knew the body on the sand was going to be the event that turned this quiet seaside village into a hive of activity for several days to come. This isolated place was usually only frequented by local residents, delivery drivers from the nearby towns and the occasional tourist passing in and out of Scotland. Now it would be teeming with forensic experts, journalists and bystanders harbouring a morbid curiosity. That was the thing about the appearance of a body in an unexpected place. It demanded attention. And it always got it.