A man’s voice blared out across the kitchen. ‘For God’s sake, Doreen!’ Agnes’s dad shuffled in: black goatee, long greying hair swept back from his high forehead with a black Alice band, wearing a T-shirt and torn jeans. Like a middle-aged skateboard dude. He even had a tattoo snaking down his left arm. ‘It’s hers, OK? They didn’t plant anything.’

Doreen Garfield’s mouth hung open. ‘You knew about this? ’

‘Why do you think I kept buying all that incense? It covered the smell. The weed kept her . . . level. Meant she didn’t need the pills as much.’

Doreen grabbed Logan’s mug and sent it hurling across the kitchen, tea spraying out behind it like a banner. ‘HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME? ’ It hit the wall by Agnes’s dad’s head and exploded.

‘You wouldn’t listen! You’re so busy controlling everything, you never stop to talk to her.’ He slapped a hand against his chest. ‘I did, OK? While you were busy making rules and trying to control everything and everyone, I sat down and listened to what she had to say.’

‘How could you? ’

He brought his chin up. Stared Logan in the eye. ‘She was doing so much better: had a boyfriend, got good marks in her exams; she was going to Aberdeen University in September to do accountancy. . .’

Doreen dug her fingers into her hair. ‘It’s all that . . . Chung boy’s fault. If he’d left her alone, we’d—’

‘Oh, come off it, she dotes on him. You have no idea how depressed she was when you said she couldn’t see him any more, have you? No sodding clue at all.’

‘He was a bad influence on—’

‘You’re the bad bloody influence! She didn’t slit her wrists for fun, did she? ’

Silence.

‘She tried to kill herself? ’ Logan closed his eyes. Gritted his teeth. Counted to five. ‘Did you not think it would be important to actually tell us that when you reported her missing? ’

‘It was. . . We didn’t want it spread all over the papers. What would she think if she saw it? That we betrayed her? ’ He looked away. ‘She’s been doing so much better.’

‘When did it happen? ’

‘Just after Christmas. I found her in the back garden with a bottle of tequila and a packet of razor blades. . .’ A little shudder twitched at his shoulders.

Doreen took another mug from the dishwasher and put it on the working surface. The porcelain rattled against the terracotta tiles, shaking in time with her hand. But her voice was perfectly level as she plucked a teabag from the box. ‘That’s why we read her diary every week. We have to be sure she’s not . . . having those kinds of thoughts. We have to be ready to help.’

The kettle growled and rumbled back to the boil.

Logan pulled out his notebook. ‘Does Agnes have a car? ’