She was spiralling again. I didn’t blame her. I may have held onto the appearance of being calm on the outside, but inside my heart was thudding and I was asking myself the same questions she was. I told her I didn’t know, because I didn’t. Should I be on the phone to Paul just now to ask him to take the girls away from the house? The thought of someone harming them made me feel physically sick.

It wasn’t ideal, but maybe he could take them to his flat in Belfast. There were two bedrooms, so the girls could share. Beth wouldn’t be happy sharing her space with a three-year-old, but surely they’d be safe there? If I spoke to Beth’s school, I’m sure they’d understand. Maybe I could get her to attend classes in Belfast for a while. Just until this all blew over. Was I overreacting? I didn’t care if I was, because I didn’t want to take a chance – not with my girls. Not after reading those details in the paper.

‘Is it true?’ I asked Constable Black.

‘Is what true?’ he replied.

‘The reports in the papers today. In The Chronicle. The report about how Clare died. The horrific injuries. A “source close to the investigation” told that Ingrid Devlin woman all those horrible details.’

Constable Black shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A thin layer of sweat had formed at his hairline. I felt sorry for him in this heat – in full uniform, the only concession to the weather being a short-sleeved shirt.

‘I’m not in a position to comment on that,’ he said, his face blazing a little.

‘Maybe I’ll call her and ask,’ I said just as Constable King walked back into the room.

‘Call who and ask?’

‘Ingrid Devlin at The Chronicle. Ask her if it’s true about how Clare died. That she was almost decapitated.’

‘I wouldn’t advise that you speak to the press at the moment,’ Constable King said. ‘I’m sure you understand that the investigation team want to make sure that the release of information to the press is handled sensitively and in a way that benefits our work.’

‘Then you should tell your sources to keep their mouths shut,’ Julie said, wringing her hands. ‘I don’t know what to think, or what to do. And I don’t know why we’re receiving these notes. Or why they’re mentioning our schooldays. It’s more than twenty years ago, for God’s sake.’

‘And no one from then would be holding on to a grudge?’

I shook my head, noticed that Julie, too, was shaking hers. The very notion was absurd. Who carries a grudge around for more than twenty years? It made no sense, but regardless of that, our schooldays weren’t particularly noteworthy.