Ryan Wolfe

Yep, yep, no problem.

No problem.

And just like that, I've found him.

And as I figured, the mention of Ann Glassop's name has hit him like a sledgehammer.

You're kidding, he says.

And in this moment, I see that he's half moving to close the door, half starting to say he doesn't want to talk about this.

I can sense this moment I've been waiting for is slipping away.

I see his mind ticking over, incredulous that this story has followed him all the way here.

But then he relents and opens the door and invites me into his flat.

Today, Gus is 68 years old, and frankly, does not look in great health.

He tells me he moves pretty slowly nowadays, after a recent fall and numerous health issues.

He's not a tall man, and although I'm aware he was strong in his youth, the man standing in front of me now is a shadow of what he once was.

His flat is very small, probably not much bigger than 5 by 5 square meters, with a single room acting as a lounge and bedroom and a separate small kitchen and bathroom.

It's not much, but I notice immediately that it is very tidy.

immaculate.

Everything has a place and he has a lot of bits and pieces and knickknacks.

I notice a large number of clocks adorn the walls.

He's obviously a collector.

He pulls out a chair from a small desk against the wall and invites me to take a seat while he sits back down on the small couch.

No, that's fine.