The face haunted him. The identikit face that he'd seen in the flesh. Not a line of it deceived him. It was the face of a killer. He'd told the police - but they were in on it too. Everyone ignored him when he pointed the killer out. Were they all blind? Were they all as perverted and disgusting as the murderer himself? Horridge knew, though. They may all laugh at him, plot against him, but he knew. He followed the killer. He watched the flat. And as he watched he came to a momentous decision. The face was guilty. The face must die.