She glanced behind her, and her heart lurched when she realized that a woman was approaching. The woman was older than her by maybe ten years, haggard and tired, with a wary look in her faded green eyes. Her ill-fitting baggy shift dress hung badly off her shoulders, and her blonde hair looked like it needed a wash. She wore massive 50’s-style film star sunglasses pushed up on top of her head.

‘Hello Helen,’ she said flatly.

Helen’s heart jumped into her throat and she tried hard to keep the desperation out of her own voice. ‘Are you Janet?’

The woman nodded.

‘Can you tell me what you know? Please?’

The woman sat down opposite and regarded her, her gaze cool and appraising, answering Helen’s question with another question. ‘Why did you choose this place to meet?’

Helen twitched one shoulder in a shrug. ‘Most normal place I could think of. Public, in case you’re a psycho. Please tell me where they are.’

Janet tipped her head to one side and said nothing.

‘Please. If it’s money you want, you’ll get the reward, you know. Why don’t you go to the police? Why did you want to talk to me instead?’ Helen had to sit on her hands, both to stop them shaking and to stop herself throttling it out of Janet, who was now pursing her lips at her.

‘So many questions,’ she stated. ‘Slow down. We got plenty of time.’

Her accent was odd, thought Helen. Not English – not entirely, anyway.

Janet dropped her big sunglasses back down over her eyes. Helen studied her face carefully, trying to commit it to memory in case she had anything to do with Frankie’s kidnapping, but the woman was fairly unremarkable in appearance. The most noticeable thing about her was her skin colour, a pasty white, as though she never went in the sun. She reminded Helen of a toad.

‘Why did you contact me?’ Helen repeated.

The woman smiled. ‘Cos I feel for you, darling.’

Something about the way she said it made Helen shudder. It was as if the woman was putting on a voice that wasn’t her own. Helen was starting to get a seriously bad feeling about Janet Friars. Her next utterance didn’t help, either:

‘How is your husband coping?’

Helen frowned at her. ‘My husband?’ She was about to say ‘None of your damn business’, until she remembered that Janet might, just might, be able to help her. ‘As well as can be expected.’