One child. As he exited the house into the warm evening sunshine, his blood felt cold.

Sharon was brought out on a stretcher immediately afterwards – a stretcher, not in another body bag. For a moment, Patrick felt a flash of hope. Carmella rushed over and crouched down on her haunches beside the injured woman, at the same time that Patrick shoved the paramedics aside and joined them.

Sharon was still alive, just. The blood that trailed from mouth to ear formed a terrible symmetry with what Patrick had seen upstairs on her lover’s face.

Patrick leaned close to her. She was trying to talk.

‘He . . . promised me . . . a family. I couldn’t have a baby of my own. They were too fragile . . .’ Her voice faded and she closed her eyes. Patrick was sure they’d lost her. But her eyes opened. ‘I’m so . . . sorry . . . about the little girl. When Samuel brought her to me it was like . . . like a wonderful gift. He wanted to make me happy. But it all . . . it all went so wrong . . .’

‘What happened, Sharon?’ Patrick asked, keeping his voice low, respectful of witnessing a life coming to an end, the guttering of the candle that was her spirit.

‘She wouldn’t stop screaming. We tried to give her . . . a bath. But she screamed and . . .’ Again her words trailed off. ‘It was Samuel. He was worried . . . the neighbours would hear. He pushed her under the water. Just for a minute.’

Tears rolled from the dying woman’s eyes.

‘And Liam?’ Patrick asked. ‘He was a replacement?’

Sharon’s eyes said yes. ‘We just wanted a child. Someone to love. I saw him in the car and recognised him. Such a sweet boy. His so-called mother didn’t care about him . . . She just left him in there, didn’t even lock it . . .’ She broke off, gasping and coughing.

So Liam’s mother, Zoe, had been lying about not leaving the car unlocked. Patrick would allow himself to feel angry about all the hours wasted hunting for the man who supposedly bumped her later.

Patrick leaned closer. There wasn’t long left. ‘And what about Frankie? Where is she?’

‘Who?’

‘Frankie Philips. The other little girl.’

Sharon’s face was a mask of confusion. She opened her mouth to speak but, instead, took in a long, rattling breath and lay still, her eyes still open, staring as if she would be confused for eternity.

Patrick and Carmella exchanged a long, fearful look. As Patrick pushed himself to his feet, his knees crunching as he stood, he saw a woman with soft black hair running full pelt towards them, a uniformed PC in pursuit. The woman had broken through the cordon.

‘Oh shit,’ he said. ‘It’s Helen Philips.’