As the sound of footsteps behind her grew louder, she quickened her pace. She didn't want to turn around as the memory of that morning's newspaper headline made her afraid of what she would see: "City Killer Claims Fourth Victim." "Why did I stop for a few drinks in the bar after work?" she thought to herself. Now it was dark and the streets deserted. She was alone and _  She felt as if she was walking in the rain. Her clothes were damp from nervous sweat and as each short hot breath hit the night air, it turned to steam, coating her glasses in a thin film so all she saw seemed covered in fog. The footsteps were closer now. She needed to get off this street. Her eyes began a useless search for an open store or lighted window. Passing a small lane she looked through,for a possible escape route. But the lane was a dead - end and she laughed to herself at the irony. The sound of a car behind her turning onto the street interrupted her self - pity. Escape was at hand. But as she was about to throw herself onto the road and shout for the car to stop, the car's headlights cast a shadow that paralyzed   her with terror. It was the footsteps' owner. The figure was huge and in its raised arm it held what looked like a lead-pipe, no doubt the one that was about to claim victim number five. The shadow dissolved as the car passed by and disappeared into the distance. She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was all happening as if in slow - motion. She was waiting for her life to flash before her eyes like all those novels said it would - but it didn't. The only thing she thought of was her dear husband. She recalled phoning him from work that very afternoon and joking about, of all things, the city killer. It was a night full of ironies. There was a voice talking to her now but she was lost in thoughts of her fate and didn't respond. The hand then began turning her around. It was surprisingly gentle given what was about to come. She allowed it to guide her without resistance. (;) She looked up. She recognized the face, but she didn't know from where. Its mouth was still talking to her but she couldn't understand. Then she remembered. The face belonged to the foreign looking man who had served her at the bar. She looked down to his hand and saw in it not a lead - pipe but a rolled up copy of a work report she had been correcting in the bar as she drank. His words suddenly started to register in her brain and she could hear him. "Miss, Miss. Are you OK? You left this in the bar and it looked important so I thought I'd better give it to you." The woman was feeling nervous because_.
she had left her report in the bar there was a killer in the city she was being followed by someone the streets were dark and empty