Thursday 15 May - early

Half-asleep I hear a scream. It is Miss Jordan. I rush out of the flat, armed with my calorie-seeking, anti-tartan harpoon gun. She had been climbing the stairs, intent on helping an injured (but not incapable) fan to her quarters before stumbling upon a most disturbing discovery outside flat 13. I ask whom else she has seen in our building tonight. ‘Just Shifty and Scarface’, comes the reply, ‘plus Dave Gorman and three jocks playing Russian roulette in the hallway; nowt suspicious at all, Sir.’ I tell her it is now imperative that we cast our minds back and our nets wide, my eyes locked upon the slashed and bloodied bodies of our former neighbours, Bjorn and Cindy. Now I’ll never get my pineapple corer back.

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