Claudia nodded slowly, trying to imagine what the detective must have thought as he’d listened to the tale of domestic terror that would have been so much easier to describe than it had been to endure. The belittling, the intimidation, the insane jealousy of her dead husband, Joel. It had reached a point where Marcus couldn’t even bear to hear Joel’s name; just thank God he’d never turned his rage on Jasmine—only threatened to. However, Jasmine had somehow found out that he punished her mother for her musical talents, as if she was encouraging them just to spite him.

So Jasmine—Cara as she’d been then—had stopped playing the violin and had gradually broken with her friends to avoid having to invite anyone home.

Why had she, Claudia, allowed it to go on as long as it had? Why hadn’t she found the courage to leave sooner? People only asked those questions when they’d never been in such a situation themselves, trapped, smothered by a bully, bereft of confidence and terrified he’d carry out his threats to harm her daughter if she ever tried to leave.

“All I need to know,” he’d said the last time she’d visited him in prison—yes, she’d visited him while he was on remand, she’d had to or he’d have sent someone to the house to check on them—“is that you’ll stand by me if this doesn’t end well. Tell me you’ll still be there when I come out.”

She hadn’t answered, had been unable to find any words.

“Swear to me that you will,” he growled urgently. “If I know I can trust you no one will come after you.”

No one will come after you.

Her silence made him draw back suddenly, gray eyes darkening with fury. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed. “Tell me what I’m thinking is wrong.”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” she replied helplessly.

“You fucking helped them, didn’t you?” he spat. “That’s what I’m seeing . . . Bitch! You’ve been working with the police . . .”

She shook her head desperately.

“If I find out you have, you’ll pay, I hope you know that.”

She’d wondered who would make her pay, the foreign investors—launderers—he was protecting, no doubt because he knew his life wouldn’t be a long one if he didn’t stay silent? Or, more likely, one of his even more dubious connections.