‘I’m not a visitor.’ Carol produced the old warrant card that had got her on to the premises and flashed it at the women. ‘I’d like to see Maggie Spence.’

‘Have you got an appointment?’

‘No.’

‘Can you tell me what it’s in connection with?’

‘It’s confidential.’

The woman at the computer glanced up at the word, like a dog picking up a scent. She frowned momentarily, then her face cleared. ‘I’ve seen you with Dr Hill,’ she said, smiling. ‘Molly, this lady works with Dr Hill when he’s doing his profiling.’

Molly squeezed a smile out. ‘I’ll see if Mrs Spence is available.’ She slid the panel shut and returned to the phone. A brief conversation, glancing at Carol a couple of times, then she replaced the phone and reopened the panel. ‘She’s coming through.’ She produced a clipboard and handed Carol a pen. ‘If you wouldn’t mind signing in?’

Carol completed the formalities and was pinning a visitor pass to her jacket when a heavy door to one side of the desk clicked open and a woman emerged. Somewhere in her mid to late fifties, Maggie Spence looked like a woman for whom comfort was the headline priority. She wore loose khaki chinos topped by a baggy blue T-shirt and a hand-knitted multicoloured cardigan. A pair of scarlet-rimmed glasses perched on the end of a nose that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Santa Claus. Her plump face was lined with the tell-tale tracks of smiles rather than frowns. Seeing Carol, she gave an automatic grin. ‘Hi, I’m Maggie Spence. I gather you wanted to talk to me?’ She extended a hand and Carol found her fingers enveloped in a warm grip.

‘I’m Carol Jordan,’ she said. ‘Thanks for seeing me. Is there somewhere we can talk?’

Maggie glanced at the visitors’ waiting area. ‘Molly said it was confidential, right?’ Carol nodded. ‘This is too public, then. Come with me and we’ll use my office.’

Carol followed as Maggie used a swipe card to lead her through a series of locked doors and short hallways to a neat little room with a view across the grounds to the distant moors. Apparently the staff were allowed to enjoy the wild grandeur of nature. Maggie’s office was crammed with books, files and paper, but unlike Tony’s, everything was organised in neat piles. The only wall space not fitted with shelves was covered by a colourful patchwork hanging that appeared to be an impressionistic image of a mountain landscape. Maggie waved Carol to a chair and settled herself behind the tidy desk. ‘So, what’s all this about?’

Carol took Tony’s letter out of her bag. ‘I’m here under false colours, I’m afraid. I’m not a police officer any longer. I’m working with Bronwen Scott, who is a criminal defence lawyer.’