According to all the crime reporters, Katie’s body was found by a man out walking his dog. The forensic experts are at the scene now. All the evidence points to a violent death.

Hours pass. Still no sign of Jeff. I flick from one station to the next. Katie Collins’ death is the lead story on every local channel. Funneling down coffee, I stay glued to the screen. What will happen now? Will Detective Turner think I’m involved? Curled up on the sofa, my body does not feel like it’s mine. I’m an alien here. Jesus, Becca, how the hell did you get dragged into this?

When the phone rings I nearly jump out of my seat. It’s her, it has to be her. She’s going to want to talk to me. I answer expecting to hear her dull voice. But it isn’t Turner. It’s Barry, calling from Oakridge. He has the CCTV coverage I was looking for. Do I want to look it over tonight?

Now I don’t know what to do. I know what I should do – ring Turner and tell her I think Katie Collins visited my mom. But what if it wasn’t her? What if the visitor was a different Katie Collins visiting someone else at Oakridge? Turner will go mad with me for wasting her time. She’ll think I’m trying to mislead her, maybe slap me with an obstruction of justice charge. Right now there’s a knot in my stomach wrapping all my fears into one hard ball. Kick the ball, Becca, kick the ball away.

I need to see that CCTV coverage. I want to know if Katie Collins visited my mom. If she was the one who put those crazy ideas in Mom’s head.

I took you, Becca. You’re not my daughter.

There’s no need for me to knock the building down this time. Barry is waiting by the door.

‘Are you okay?’ he says as I slip past him, in behind the desk.

I’m shivering. Coming back here has taken a lot more courage than I ever thought I had.

I’m nervous about what I’m about to discover, but I believe I already know the truth. All I’m looking for is confirmation. It would be too big a coincidence if the visitor was some other Katie Collins.

‘I think this is the one,’ Barry says.

My head is ready to explode here.

‘I’ll just fast forward to visiting hours,’ he says. His voice is soft, comforting. He even handles the computer gently, pushing buttons like they might break under any pressure.