He’d gone to prison because of her, but he deserved to be there. She was only doing her job. Still, the look on his face made her question her sanity. The traffic freed up and she pulled away. He turned off in a different direction and she breathed a sigh of relief, but she noticed that her hands were shaking. Adrenalin hitting her stomach made her feel queasy, and she pulled off the road at the next petrol station to buy a full-sugar Lucozade to calm her nerves. Her armpits were sweaty and she looked over her shoulder several times.

The first slug of the cold, sugary liquid soothed her, and she put her head against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. She knew that her job made her a target for irate criminals. Being banged up was the end of the game for somebody like Dave. She was also acutely aware of how going against the tide of ingrained belief and hearsay in a small community like theirs took balls. To an outsider, or a criminal pinned down by the wealth of evidence she threw at them, she came across as just that: ballsy and indomitable. But inside, she was just a normal human being. Sometimes she hated finding out the things she did, but it didn’t change the fact that bad people should be held accountable. She told herself to hold her nerve. She could always get a restraining order against him; any magistrate would do that for her. It was common in cases like this where perps were released early, vowing revenge. Not that Dave had done that, but he’d looked at her like somebody who wanted to kill her, and she knew it would ruin the rest of her day.

Graeme was waiting for her at the marina. His demeanour had changed dramatically since the last time she’d seen him. It looked like all the humour had drained from him: he wasn’t his usual happy, casual self at all.

‘Hi, Kelly. Do you want a cuppa?’ He smiled, but not with his eyes.

‘No thanks, Graeme, I’m good. Can we go somewhere private?’

He nodded and led her through the back entrance to a yard that his staff used for smoking. There was a tin ashtray, full of fag butts. They sat on plastic chairs. The yard was in sunshine, and it was pleasantly warm.

Kelly got out a pad and pencil. ‘Do you mind if I take notes?’

‘Is it formal?’

‘I’m afraid the detective in charge of the case is breathing down my neck about some unanswered questions, and I’ve got some of my own too.’

‘Right. What about?’

‘I’m not going to lie to you, Graeme, it looks bad. If I have to take you in, I will. At the moment, no one is requesting your arrest, but it stinks.’

‘What? What the hell are you talking about?’