Drinking her tea and looking out on the street, it occurred to her that not only had she enjoyed every minute of her afternoon but that she had not felt any need for company, certainly not that of her ex-husband, who hated shopping, hated tea shops, hated what he would have regarded as time-wasting. The thought of how much of his time was going to be eaten by a young wife who would probably love spending his money, and twin boys who would gobble up even more of it for the next twenty years, was a pleasing one.

The front of the house was dark when she got home, which meant that Liv would be in her room at the back. The porch light came on so that she could see to get her key and unlock the door before it snapped off again as she moved inside.

She set down her shopping and switched on the hall light.

‘I’m back, Liv. Come on down and see what I’ve got you.’

There was something about the silence.

‘Olivia!’

And then.

Greta’s hand went to her face. She was cold. Hot. Cold. Wanted to faint but did not, to run but could not. Scream. Cry out. Vomit. She could do nothing but stand completely still.

But there was a sound, odd, like no sound she had ever heard, surely coming from the hanging body of her daughter, suspended from a rope tied to the banister above. Greta could not go closer but she strained to hear it, the ugly, peculiar sound of life. But it did not come again.

And then she backed out of the door, stopped in the middle of the dark pathway, and began to scream.

Thirty-Four

‘Vincent Paul Roper, guv. Squeaky clean, not so much as a minor traffic offence. Employment record clean . . . was in the army, then done all sorts of security jobs, bit of long-distance lorry driving, been a bouncer for six years. Good council tenant. His ex walked out, lived in several places with several blokes, social services were involved with her when she looked after the kids but didn’t, as you might say. No probs since he had custody.’

‘Mates?’

‘A few – mainly from work, a couple from army days but it’s just the occasional meet-up in a pub. One time he and an ex-squaddie and his missus took all their kids to a holiday camp – seven lads but no probs there, which is hardly credible but there you go.’

‘All looks good. Thanks for getting that done in quick time.’