‘I was stupid enough to tell Mum about it in front of Sonny,’ I admitted. Not my finest intellectual hour.

‘What happened?’

‘Sonny said the car had been in the quarry when he bought the place and the land – and Mum believed him.’

‘Why didn’t you go to the police? They could examine the car for DNA evidence on the bonnet or front bumpers. You should’ve done that before you told Sonny and your mum of your suspicions. But, even after all this time, the police might be able to get something.’ Libby placed a hand on my arm, earnestly trying to find a solution to my dilemma. Like I hadn’t already turned through three hundred and sixty degrees, trying to find the exact same thing.

‘When I accused Sonny of killing my dad, Mum lost it,’ I told her. ‘She made me apologize, said she wasn’t gonna listen to any more of my suspicions. I was still figuring out what I should do next when Sonny checkmated me by having the quarry cleared. The cars that used to be in it are probably compacted cubes of metal in some landfill somewhere. That’s what I’d do in Sonny’s shoes.’

‘But there must be something you can do?’ Libby frowned.

‘You believe me now?’

Her frown deepened. ‘Of course I believe you. This isn’t a wind-up, is it?’

I shook my head. ‘It’s not the kind of thing I’d joke about.’

‘Well then,’ said Libby. ‘So what’re you going to do?’

‘Short of persuading Sonny to confess, there’s not a lot I can do. And I guarantee he won’t be declaring his guilt any time soon. He’s got the thing he wanted – my mum. Nothing I say or do will make him give her up.’

‘Then you’ll have to get him to admit it,’ said Libby decisively.

‘And just how d’you reckon I should do that?’

‘Did you take photos when you were at the quarry?’

I shook my head. ‘No. I was too shocked and shook up to do anything – and, by the time I thought of it, Sonny was right behind me on his quad bike, so I didn’t get the chance.’

‘That’s a pity. With the car now gone, Sonny probably thinks he’s home and dry.’ Libby shook her head. ‘What we need to do is get him so riled at you that he’ll blab about the whole thing and you must record it. As long as he thinks he’s got away with it, his guard will be down.’

‘That kind of thing only happens in bad TV dramas. And where did “we” come from?’

Libby looked taken aback. ‘Of course – we! You don’t seriously think I’d let you try and do this on your own, do you? We have to find a way to get him to confess.’