“He admitted to taking Kyle Parker out to Abbey Vale that night. Unbeknownst to him, Kyle had filched his wallet and got hold of his name and address. When Kyle tried to extort money, there was a struggle, during which Peel ‘lost the plot’—his words—and punched him. Just the one punch, he says, but Kyle landed badly, hitting his head. According to Peel, Kyle got up and staggered off toward the river, at which point Peel panicked, abandoned him, and ran.”

“Fucking arsehole,” Rosie said.

Jem put an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll never know what really happened, will we? For all we know, Peel threw him into the water, or he could have stood there, watched him fall in, and then walked away and left him.”

“Without an independent witness, Peel’s word is all we have to go on,” Steph said. “Crown Prosecution are edging toward manslaughter rather than murder. We’re almost certain to get a conviction on the former charge, but whether he’ll pay a fitting price for his crime…” She opened her hands helplessly. “We can only do what we can do, and the law often falls short in these cases.”

“Not your fault, Steph,” Rosie said. “This was a shitty case from day one.”

Steph slid the file into her bag. “It was, and it didn’t half snowball. My boss is pleased as Punch with the way everything has turned out, though, so at least someone’s happy.”

“The Mansoors will be happy,” Rosie said. “Maybe this will make them realise there’s worse things than having a queer kid.”

“Ava and Chloe are doing okay as well,” Jem added. “And we made it out the other side, so it could’ve been worse.”

Rosie gave a shocked laugh, leaning back to appraise her. “Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Jemima Pardon?”

“I’m turning over a new, optimistic leaf,” Jem said. “I think it’s about time.”

Steph’s self-conscious cough broke the moment. At some point she had stood and put her coat on.

“I should get going. I’m glad you’re both safe.” She paused by Rosie’s side and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Yep,” Rosie said, the prospect not as alarming as she might have expected. She waited until the door closed, blocking out the hum of noise from the corridor. “You all right?” she asked Jem.

“Aye. Are you?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Rosie picked up the box of toffee and gave it a shake. “Do you want a piece, or are you saving yourself for your Cornish pasty?”

Jem laughed. “What do you reckon? Get the bloody box open and stop being a berk.”

Epilogue