Angela’s face softened. “PC Withey . . . ah, yes. I’d forgotten the name, sorry. He was very good to me.”

“You know,” Jack went on, “‘hero worship’ is a common reaction in victims who are rescued from abusive environments. It’s natural—it wouldn’t have been your fault—but affairs are often the final outcome.”

“I was fifteen! And he was married, I think. I did cling to him for a bit, I remember that, but he was always very professional. There was nothing unsavory about it, DC Warr, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Angela was cool, all right. Every inch of Jack tingled as her words washed over him. Something wasn’t right with her manner, her words, her tone; she was lying and he knew it.

“Whose baby did you lose?” he asked abruptly. “You previously told me that you put flowers on Dolly’s grave because you let her down. You said you’d made a mistake and you lost a baby. This was back around 1995, when you were all living at The Grange?”

Angela glanced up at the high shelf, far out of reach of sticky young fingers, at the two lone toys in pride of place—the teddy bear and the teething ring. Jack followed her gaze. He needed to be more careful. This loss was still raw.

“It must have been awful. I’m very sorry.” He paused. “Did Mike know?” he asked gently.

She rounded on him. “PC Withey was not the mistake I mentioned. If you insist on prying, I was attacked. I’d call it rape if I’d been sober enough to remember it actually happening. Five weeks later, I was pregnant. And I didn’t lose the baby, DC Warr, I drank bleach and I killed it. My body simply couldn’t keep us both alive. That’s how I let Dolly Rawlins down. She bought the bear and teether—she loved me and, by default, she loved my baby. I took both from her that day.”

Angela stared at him, strong and defiant, as if willing him to question her further.

Jack got to his feet. Even though he was certain she was telling the truth, he sensed there was something she was holding back. Nothing he could do about it for now.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Dunn,” he said, and left.

Angela stood on the balcony, staring down as Jack Warr got into his car. As soon as he’d driven off, she went inside and picked up her mobile.

“No, no, don’t worry, nothing’s happened,” she said. “But the police are onto something. I’ve just had a visit. DC Warr. He doesn’t know anything yet, but he’ll get there in the end. We need to meet.” There was a pause. “Thursday. You OK to come here? It’s just, with the kids, you know? Listen—take a breath before you call her. We’re not panicking. We’re doing exactly what we planned, just a little bit sooner.”

When she hung up, she sat down and took a deep breath herself, letting her shoulders slump and her head fall back.