‘You know how I feel about that. I think about that decision every day of my fucking life,’ he says, his voice rising. ‘I almost killed you, and I would have had to live with that. I care about you, you know I do. And I just want do what’s best for you. I think a few days out of this place will be for the best.’

‘Is that an order?’

I repeat the words I’d said into the radio a year ago, whilst outside the mill. That day, they were asked shakily as the adrenaline began to course through my body. Today, every syllable drips with venom. He doesn’t answer.

I can feel the tears waiting to throw themselves down my face and every sinew in my body wants to protest, to scream, though I know it will be in vain.

Instead, I march out of the room before he can see my tears and make my way to the toilet. Once I reach the cubicle, I collapse onto the cold plastic seat and sob. How can he take me off the case now? At the most critical point? Does he think that I’m weak? That I can’t do my job properly anymore? I dab my eyes with toilet paper and once the tears have subsided, I unlock the door and walk to the sink.

Luckily, I didn’t put mascara on this morning so my face isn’t as messy as it could have been. I look gaunt and my skin looks pale and waxy under the fluorescent strip lighting. I give myself a shake, splash some cold water on my face and leave the toilet, taking the long way round to the stairs so that I don’t have to walk past Bob’s office again.

The low, winter sun is shining and I have to squint as I leave the station. I pull my phone out of my pocket and find Tom’s name in my dialled calls list. I press his name and put the phone to my ear. It rings for a time but he doesn’t answer and I can feel the tears threatening to spill again. I know he is not supposed to be back until tomorrow, and I can’t imagine the stress he is dealing with, but I just want to hear his voice.

I get into my car and throw my bag onto the passenger seat. DCI Bob may have sent me on a little holiday, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop working.

In fact, I fully intend to use this time to prove to DCI Bob that Rory is not our killer, and that whoever is guilty is very much still on the loose. I may not be on the case anymore, but I’m determined to get the right guy.

29

My alarm rings and I sit bolt upright in bed. In an effort to prevent me from pressing snooze and lazing about, the phone is connected to a charger on the opposite side of the room, forcing me to get out of bed and retrieve it.