‘And who would have had access to your house?’

‘No one who’d do any harm to anyone. It’s usually only me there. My grandchildren visit once a week.’

‘Laura’s children?’ DI Bradley asked.

‘Yes, their daddy brings them for a visit every Wednesday. Sometimes they stay for tea.’

‘Does he stay with them? When they visit.’

‘No,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Well, not usually. He uses it as some time out. He’s under a lot of pressure – you know, looking after them. Dealing with everything after Laura died.’

I saw it. Even in my tired and drug-addled state, I saw it. An almost imperceptible raise of his eyebrow. A look between Cliona and him.

‘And would he have access to your house at other times? A spare key, maybe?’

‘Yes. He helps me out, fixes things when they’re broken, does some handiwork. But he wouldn’t … he wouldn’t have taken that picture. You don’t think he’s responsible for any of this, do you? No. He’s not like that. Michael’s not like that at all.’

I could feel myself becoming agitated. This was ridiculous. Unthinkable. Not Michael.

‘We’re not saying that,’ DI Bradley said. ‘But I think we should talk to him anyway.’

Trembling, I gave the police the details of my son-in-law, his home address, his work address. I felt as if I was betraying him with every word.

‘And you’re sure there’s no one else who could have had access to your home?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Everyone else is long gone.’

Chapter Forty-Eight

Rachel

Michael walked around me, sizing me up. I was shaking, my teeth chattering. I couldn’t stop tears from falling, even though I didn’t want to let him see me cry. I wondered if Clare had been this scared. Had she known what was going to happen?

He stopped after walking around me twice.

‘Do you think you’re attractive?’ he asked, his breath hot on my face.

‘What?’

I didn’t know where this was leading. His question had disarmed me.

‘Do you think you’re attractive? Slim, blonde. You always take care of your appearance, don’t you? It’s important to you.’

I didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t know what he expected me to say.

‘C’mon, Rachel, answer me.’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’m no different to anyone else.’

‘You don’t really feel that way though, do you? You think you’re beautiful. I’ve seen how you carry yourself. What you wear. How you interact with others and me. You’ve a confidence about you.’

He swept my hair back from my face and I recoiled. With his two hands either side of my face, he smoothed my hair flat, twisted it into a knot so tight around his fist that it hurt.