Friday 6:55 am

The assassin had observed, from his days tailing Styles that he never failed to go into the gents after his cappuccino — for a cigarette. So he devised the perfect plan.

He was as good as invisible in his Fed-Ex uniform. No one remembers routine daily occurrences like mail and parcel deliveries. Nobody noticed him as he casually walked into Bartelli’s bistro and wandered into the rest room just before it was time for Styles to have his early morning smoke. He left the door ajar and hid behind it. He thought of the hours he had spent practicing, with a dummy representing his victim. He felt confident and well-prepared. When he heard footsteps approaching the rest room, he immediately focussed on the job at hand.

The unsuspecting Mr. Styles walked into the rest room, locked the door behind him and inhaled on his Marlboro. He felt a sudden pain in his chest and a hand over his mouth. He struggled to call out, but no words would come out.

The killer had expertly clamped his gloved left hand over his victim’s mouth. He brought the knife around in front Styles’ body, with his right hand and lunged it up under his rib cage to puncture a lung, then swiftly extracted the knife and plunged it downward with great force into the side of his neck. After he felt the life drain out of his victim, he sat the bleeding body on the toilet.

The killer picked up a briefcase from the floor and removed a yellow folder. He then took the victim’s wallet, his watch and a Mount Blanc fountain pen. He calmly took the plastic covers from his biker boots and removed his long blood-splattered cycling cape. He stuffed them, together with the knife, wallet and watch in a plastic bag and put it in his Fed-Ex delivery sack. He put the pen in his inside pocket. He had use for that later. Then, with a pre-prepared locksmith’s key, he was able to lock the gents door after he left so that from the outside, it said “occupied.”

He walked out of the bistro completely unnoticed. Half an hour later, an effeminate young man, obviously in dire need to empty his bladder, complained to Bartelli that he’d been waiting for fifteen minutes to use the gents. The annoyed Italian banged on the door, but got no response. Sensing that something was wrong, he forced open the door to find the bloody body of Mr. Nick, one of his regular customers.

The killer was very satisfied with the outcome of the job. Everything went like clockwork, just as he had planned. The knife, gloves, watch and other incriminating items were at the bottom of the River Thames. He was careful that he wasn’t observed as he threw them from the Chelsea embankment.