Gerry walked over to her desk. ‘Which one are you reading?’ he asked.

‘An account of a seven-year-old boy who smashed every window in his school. Do you know what my first reaction was?’ Sam stared at him unblinking. Gerry shook his head. ‘My first thought was–that child needs a good smacking. That was before I read that his father beat him every night with a dog chain.’

‘The killer in this case…I can tell you that his life, her life, their lives hasn’t been a bed of roses,’ Gerry said, getting his jacket. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Nothing excuses what they did to Matthew.’

‘So, no matter what we find, you won’t have any sympathy with the killer, despite what you’ve just said about that boy?’ he asked as he threw her jacket to her. She shook her head. ‘Good, because telling me about that incident at the school has given me an idea. Can you tear yourself away from the reports and I’ll tell you about it?’

‘Okay, I didn’t realize how late it was. You must be starving,’ she said.

‘Just a bit.’ Gerry Cornwell had a metabolism like a furnace and if he didn’t keep it stoked he became lightheaded and grumpy. Losing his temper wouldn’t help anyone just now. ‘Give me fifteen minutes to make some calls and set someone else on the case.’

A quarter of an hour later, Sam checked out at the front desk and followed him to his car. It was already dark and the streets were deserted. Takeaway restaurants were getting ready for the evening trade but Gerry drove past them, out into the fringes of Edmonton, finally drawing to a halt outside a Victorian villa. A Volvo estate was parked in the driveway and the house looked like an oasis of domestic bliss. Two round tubs filled with blue winter hyacinths stood at the front door, the scent of the bulbs almost overpowering.

‘Here we are,’ said Gerry, putting his finger on the bell. It chimed in the hallway, and Sam heard a pair of high heels clicking towards them.

‘Where are we?’ she said.

‘My ex-sister-in-law’s,’ he whispered.