April herself was sitting on a camp-bed next to Georgia’s hospital bed, looking as though she hadn’t had a wink of sleep. Scratches, from the gardening she had been doing the day before, still decorated her legs beneath her shorts and criss-crossed her forearms. ‘Hello, detective,’ she said flatly. ‘Can’t keep you away?’

He smiled sympathetically at her, wishing he’d had the common sense to bring her a coffee and a croissant or something. Carmella would have done.

‘I need to ask Georgia some questions, I’m afraid,’ he said, gesturing towards one of the horrible blue vinyl hospital armchairs on the other side of the bed. ‘May I?’

She nodded, and he sat down. He took out his Moleskine and a pencil and leaned forward. ‘Georgia? How are you feeling today?’

Stupid question. A tear popped out from the slit between her eyelids, at the exact same moment that a drop of fluid dripped out of the IV bag into the tube running into her arm.

‘Can you talk?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. Her eyes were so swollen that Patrick couldn’t tell whether she was looking at him or not.

‘I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through all this. I understand you were found in Bushy Park? What were you doing there?’

‘Went for . . . a run.’ Another tear. Another drop of antibiotics.

‘Can you tell me what happened?’

She tried to take a deep breath, but moaned with pain at the exertion. Her mother caressed her fingers and frowned at Patrick as though accusing him of bullying her daughter.

‘Take your time,’ he said patiently, giving April what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

A deep sigh. ‘It was . . . a guy called Jerome. I don’t know his last name. He lives on the . . . Kennedy Estate.’

‘Jerome Smith?’ She nodded. ‘Why would he do this to you?’

‘He . . . hates me.’

‘Why, Georgia?’

Patrick could see that the girl was trying to work out lies in her head, trying and failing to internally muster up a convincing story. She bit her lip.

‘Georgia, you do realize that all you can do now is tell the truth?’ He spoke as gently as he could. ‘The chips are down. It’s time to start being honest. I promise you, things will be so much better for you in the long run if you tell the truth now.’

A long, long pause. Patrick shifted on his vinyl armchair and the seat squeaked, breaking the silence.

April blew her nose, then spoke: ‘Georgie, sweetheart. If you’re in trouble, we can fix it. I won’t be cross and nor will Dad, I swear. Whatever’s gone on, you’re our girl and we love you more than anything in this world. We’ll stand by you.’

They were both crying now.

‘Mum . . . where is Daddy?’ Georgia turned her head slightly as though her father had been there all the time, silently holding up her drip bag.