Just a pedophile, Jack thought, if this story was true. He glanced at the photos of Mike’s own daughters.

While they were saying their goodbyes, Jack replayed one of Susan’s comments in his head.

He didn’t know if she was one of the prostitutes or not, but he said he believed her story that she was nothing more than a maid.

Was there a connection somewhere? Ester Freeman had said that Angela Dunn was a worse maid than Geoffrey . . . and Angela had claimed that she’d let Dolly down by “making a mistake” and then losing a baby. Could the raided brothel Susan mentioned have belonged to Ester? It was a long shot, he realized—but if Angela had worked for Ester as a kid, and if Mike did raid The Grange as a young PC, then they could all have known each other. Suddenly, the Grange women were right back in the frame.

Outside Susan’s inexplicably expensive house, Jack got out his mobile. Within minutes, the HOLMES database confirmed his hunch: Angela Dunn was named in an arrest report from September 1985. She was arrested on suspicion of solicitation during a raid at The Grange. Released without charge.

If Susan’s story was true, Angela Dunn had been Mike Withey’s mistress.

Back home, Jack leapt up his stairs, two at a time . . . and then stopped dead. He checked his watch—10:30. Shit! He was desperate to tell Maggie about his day, but that would have to wait till morning now. He sneaked into the bedroom—the bed was still neatly made and Maggie wasn’t there. He quickly ran through her calendar in his head, certain she wasn’t at work.

In the kitchen, Maggie nursed a glass of red and stared at her laptop screen. She looked at him like a stern mum catching her teenager sneaking in late.

“What’s up, love?” Jack asked.

Maggie spun the laptop round so that he could see the screen, got up and poured a glass of red wine for him. On the screen was a photo of Charlie and Penny on the balcony of their cabin. The selfie caught half of Penny’s face and all of Charlie, but it was mostly sea and sky. In the bottom left corner of the image was half of a bright orange pilot boat that had come into the deeper waters to take them ashore for a day trip.

Jack smiled. His mum was terrible at taking photos! He flicked through image after image—dozens of new memories desperately made in such a short space of time. His dad was starting to look ill and Jack was so far away.

Maggie put Jack’s wine on the table.

“You missed their Skype call.”

Jack’s face drained and his skin went cold. His eyes began to fill and he gulped to stop himself from crying. He felt so ashamed. Maggie had reminded him in the morning before he left, and he’d promised not to forget.

What am I doing? he asked himself. He looked up at Maggie.