She dialled the number again. And again. Each time she got the same robotic voice telling her the same thing: I’m sorry. The number you’ve called is no longer in service.

For one surreal moment, Dee wondered if she was losing her mind. First Annie, now this. It was starting to feel like one big, elaborate prank. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard. Four thirty. Emer said she worked long hours, which meant there was every chance she’d still be at work if Dee drove over to Canary Wharf now. And if Emer was too busy to see her, Dee would wait. She’d wait all night if she had to. Because she wasn’t going home until she got some answers to the questions piling up in her mind.

Finding a space to park was a challenge. In the end, Dee accepted she wasn’t going to find anywhere cheap and reluctantly drove into one of the area’s overpriced private car parks. By the time she’d parked the car and located Emer’s office block, it was almost five thirty.

It had been easier than she’d expected to find the building again. She’d remembered the large sign outside, informing her this was the head office for a company called Pitman and Pace. Dee had simply entered the company name into her phone’s internet browser and let Google Maps guide her to the office block. She hadn’t heard of Pitman and Pace before, but the information she’d read online informed her they were ‘one of the world’s pre-eminent law firms’.

A row of women, all perfectly made up and dressed in matching red and blue jackets, beamed at Dee from behind a chrome and glass counter.

‘Good afternoon,’ one of them chirped. ‘How may I help you this afternoon?’

‘I’m trying to contact one of your employees,’ Dee said. ‘She’s my cousin and I need to speak with her urgently.’

‘Her name?’

‘Emer Doran.’

‘One moment, please.’ The woman looked from Dee to the slimline laptop in front of her and started tapping the keyboard.

One moment turned into several as the woman’s smiled slipped into a frown.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, looking up from the laptop. ‘Could you repeat the name for me?’

‘Emer Doran,’ Dee said. ‘D-O-R-A-N. I don’t think she’s a permanent staff member. She’s on a short-term contract.’

‘Okay.’ The woman nodded, looking relieved, ‘One moment, please.’

Again, the moment dragged on.

‘I can’t seem to locate her,’ the woman said eventually. ‘Can you give me another few minutes?’

She picked up a phone and dialled a number.

‘Hello, Carly? It’s Tracey on reception. Would you mind asking Gerry to pop down for a moment?’