After a sip of much-too-sweet coffee to steady herself, Heather told her. About the letters, her mother’s apparently close relationship with a serial murderer, and everything she’d gleaned about the new murders so far: that Fiona Graham had been taken directly from her bedroom, that the police had been going through her personal belongings at the school where she worked, that hearts, or heart shapes, seemed central to the killings. She gave Diane her impressions on Reave himself, and watched as her old editor’s face grew hungry – a look she’d seen whenever a big story was about to break. She left out the note found at her mother’s house, and her own crawling suspicions about her mother’s role in everything; in the story she told, the letters were simply the catalyst that got her access to a murderer. She said nothing about Anna Hobson’s wild claims of stolen babies – she didn’t want to push her luck.

‘I’m picturing maybe a series of articles,’ Heather said, her voice low. ‘About Reave, and when they get this new bastard, him too. From my unique perspective. Do you see? I’m the only person he’s spoken to in any detail.’

‘Apart from your mother.’ Heather winced at this, but Diane carried on. ‘You’re right. It’s a unique angle.’

‘You have to promise me, Diane, that I get to write it. I’ll come back to you when I have everything I need.’

‘Heather, the way things ended before … Well, it leaves me without much space to manoeuvre. There are people I work with now who wouldn’t be thrilled to see a story from you gracing our paper.’

‘Does that really matter? Or do you think I’ve somehow lost the ability to write in the last few months? Come on, Diane.’

‘Tell you what, since I’m fond of you. Send me over a few pages.’ Diane sipped at the foam on the top of her coffee. ‘Give me a solid idea of what you’re going for. It’ll make it easier for me to get it in.’

Heather sighed and leaned back in her chair a little. This was risky, and she knew it, but just seeing Diane again had brought back a lot of memories; memories of how much she had enjoyed her job; memories of how, at one time, it had been enormously important to her.

‘Fine. I’ll send over some notes.’

‘It’s a deal.’ Diane gave one of her rare smiles, like sun breaking through on a winter’s day. ‘This feels like dangerous ground though, Heather. Be careful. Stay safe.’

25

‘There’s been a complication with today’s visit.’