Tony King is not an obvious killer. Cheerful and chatty, he drives around London in a van emblazoned with a larger-than-life (and dare I say younger-than-life) picture of himself, arms folded, grinning widely. He listens to classical music as he drives; it keeps stress at bay in the capital’s traffic, he says.
When his phone goes off, it plays Debussy’s Clair de Lune. There is a lot of Clair de Lune: these are busy times. On the van’s exterior, surrounding big, smiley King, are grey silhouettes of some of his victims, including a wasp, a rodent and a cockroach. There is also a wide-bodied insect that looks as if it could be from millions of years ago, but is very much current: a bedbug. There is another clue to the nature of King’s job in the company’s name: The Pied Piper. It may encourage his clients to pay up, if they remember the story.
