When Jack re-entered the conservatory, a young girl was sitting on Julia’s lap, crying her heart out. Julia indicated that he should keep on with his questions while she rocked the distraught girl back to calmness.

“Do you run this place alone?” he inquired.

“I have two people helping me. I’d trust them with my life. I did have three, until the father of one of the children turned up on my doorstep demanding his son back. I knew who’d given out our address.” Then Julia spoke to the girl. “Go on. Stick by Suzie for now, please. I’ll come and talk to Darren in a minute.”

The girl jumped off Julia’s knee and headed for Suzie, who Jack hadn’t noticed was waiting in the doorway. Suzie was big for such a young-looking girl and didn’t seem “all there.” She seemed vulnerable and timid. When the girls had left the room, Julia continued.

“Darren’s a worry. He’s feral. I don’t mean that maliciously, it’s just the best word to describe him. He lashes out so quickly.”

“Self-preservation.” Jack suddenly recalled another memory long buried. “A much bigger lad was after my lunch money at school—this was after I was placed with my foster parents—and as he got within reach I hit him before he could hit me. I remember that I didn’t want to fight him, so I had to create a lie to tell myself . . . the lie being that I wasn’t afraid.”

“I have a feeling you still protect yourself in the same way,” Julia teased. “You stand when I’m seated, in order to command the room. You have your hands in your pockets to show how at ease you are, you don’t break eye contact showing you’re no pushover, you chat to draw me in. I studied psychology as part of my doctorate, and I have to say that you are very hard to read for a copper. You’re either genuine or you’re one big façade, DC Warr.”

Jack blew air from his nostrils as he smiled. He liked Julia very much—she sounded posh and she looked very feminine, but he didn’t doubt that she was as tough as old boots.

When he asked if the isolation affected her, she said, “Isolation keeps us safe. I’m guardian to these children—that’s a privilege that I don’t take lightly. The truth, although they think the opposite, is that they saved my life. I owe these children everything.”

Four hours later, in West London, Jack rang Angela’s doorbell. She opened the door without asking who was there, and from her surprised expression it was immediately clear to him that she’d been expecting someone else.

“DC Warr,” he said, holding up his warrant card.

She led him into the lounge, where she’d been re-covering a set of dining room chairs, shaking her head.

“I don’t see the point in that bottom door if people hold it open for strangers—no offense. I thought you were Irene from 36—she wanted to take a picture of her chairs to show her mum. Sorry, that’s not remotely interesting. What can I do for you?”