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[At a second floor flat in Chelsea around 21:00 on a Monday evening.]
“Hello?”
“I’m sorry, there is no Roy Meier on this number. I’ve only just moved here so he might be a previous occupant.”
“Yes, I am sure that he does not live here.”
“No, I won’t give you my name. I don’t know who the hell you are. You could be a serial rapist for all I know.”
“Goodbye.”
I put the phone down. I was shaking like a leaf. I had been named this Roy Meier but in a previous life. If the caller really had put 2 and 2 together then I was well and truly up shit creek big time.