Inside the interrogation room Turner fiddles with the usual buttons while notifying me of my rights. Her eyes are frightening. She looks as if she can read my mind, like she knows everything and I’m just an innocent fool. Her confidence is almost edible.

‘Rebecca,’ she says. ‘I called your cell last night but I didn’t get an answer.’

I shrug, unwilling to tell her I saw the call but ignored it. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear it.’

‘I need to tell you something, something that might upset you.’

It’s a bit late for that; there is nothing she can tell me that can top yesterday.

‘Detective, I came here to tell you something.’ My voice sounds okay to me. Strong. Turner sits back, an inquisitive expression on her face.

Taking a deep breath, I say, ‘I am Katie Collins’ sister.’

That’s it, I’ve said it.

Turner doesn’t move, just holds her stare, says nothing.

‘I found out yesterday for sure,’ I say, ‘but I’ve suspected it over the last few days. I wasn’t aware of this when Katie Collins was killed.’

Glad now that I rehearsed my words with Jeff on the way over in the car, I tell her how I came to the conclusion, how the blood results proved I wasn’t Nancy Wall’s daughter. I tell her about the pink coat that turned up, which I then saw in the photo of the missing child, and the words, Mom’s words, that cracked my identity.

She listens without interruption until I finish. I’m waiting for her to react but she takes her time, carefully filing my story in her head. Eventually she says, ‘Rebecca.’

‘I’m not Rebecca. I’m Louise.’

She looks down at the file in front of her, her fingers circling the cover.

‘I called you last night because I wanted to meet with you. I know who you are, I’d suspected it all along, but I had to wait until the DNA results came through. The investigation needed some stimulation, so I made the decision to let you know, to see what came of it.’

‘I didn’t kill Katie Collins.’

‘Rebecca – I hope you don’t mind me calling you that for now. Katie Collins came here looking for you. She knew you were her sister. How? I don’t know. She’d been through the process with plenty of girls in the past but this time she was willing to leave her new baby daughter and travel here to find you.’

‘I know all about Katie Collins,’ I say. ‘I’ve been to Algiers, spoken to her husband, seen the walls of the spare room.’

Turner looks surprised by this, but she moves on to the coat.

‘How did the coat show up?’

‘Bert, my neighbor. He gave it to me last week, a few days before he died.’

‘How did he die?’

‘He had a heart attack.’