Schrödinger squirmed from Hannah’s arms and landed on the rug. Jenny saw where they’d tried to clean up the blood from that night. The rug was red and patterned so the blood was easy to hide.

‘Who’s this guy?’ Hannah said, pointing at the collie.

Jenny looked at her daughter. Her black hair needed a wash and she looked tired. This had been hard on everyone, Hannah most of all.

Jenny took a sip of whisky. ‘He belonged to the guy driving the car.’

‘Belonged?’

Jenny glanced at Dorothy, who was staring out of the window again.

‘The driver died,’ Jenny said.

‘Holy shit.’ Hannah stroked the dog, Schrödinger hissing in the doorway.

‘Take it easy,’ Hannah said to the cat. She looked up. ‘So we’ve got this guy until we find his family?’

‘If he has one,’ Dorothy said.

Hannah checked for a collar, tickled under his chin.

‘He got a name?’

Jenny shook her head.

Hannah stood and thought, looked from the dog to the cat.

‘He can be Einstein,’ she said. ‘Einstein and Schrödinger never got on.’

Indy appeared at the doorway with a look. ‘Someone’s downstairs.’

‘A funeral?’ Dorothy said.

‘No.’

‘A case?’ Jenny said.

Indy shook her head and threw a look of apology around the room, landing on Hannah. ‘It’s your stepmum, Han, she wants to speak to all of you.’

For years Jenny had built up Fiona as a nemesis, the perky little blonde who lured her husband away. That was insane, of course, Craig was the one having an affair back then, and anyway, Jenny was lucky the way things turned out. She’d thought about Fiona in the last six months, how it would be for her, her husband in prison, a murderer, a cheat. Worse still, he and Jenny had been fooling around before all the craziness. They were all tricked by the same man, so Fiona wasn’t the enemy. But that still hung in Jenny’s mind, anxiety creeping up her spine at the thought of the woman downstairs.

‘Bring her up,’ Dorothy said, touching her forehead.

Hannah held the kitchen worktop, breathing deep, eyes closed.

Jenny heard footsteps, and there she was. Fiona was beautiful, same age as Jenny. She was small but expertly put together, both her figure and her smart suit, like a successful solicitor with an edge of sex appeal.

‘Come in,’ Dorothy said, waving a hand.

Fiona hesitated, looked at Hannah.

Hannah lived with Jenny after the divorce, but she’d spent weekends with Craig, Fiona and Sophia, her cute wee half-sister.

‘Hi, Han,’ she said.

‘Hey.’

Fiona looked around. ‘So this is where it happened?’

She meant Craig’s face-off with the Skelf women.

‘The crime scene, one of them at least,’ Jenny said, then regretted it. Mel had died, fuck’s sake, this wasn’t a joke.