It was warm in the tiny glass office after the cold outside. Miller sat her in the only chair and perched on the edge of the desk. Jack Brady leaned against the door, notebook and pencil ready.

‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you some questions,’ Miller said.

She nodded, gripping her handbag so tightly that her knuckles gleamed white. ‘That’s all right.’

‘Were you aware that for the past three months your sister was living at a house in Grosvenor Road under the name of Joanna Martin?’

She shook her head. ‘No – in fact it doesn’t make sense. We understood she was in London. We’ve had three letters from her and they were all postmarked Chelsea.’

‘I understand there was some trouble at the College of Art?’ Miller said. ‘That she had to leave? Could you tell me about that?’

‘It’s rather difficult to explain. Joanna was always a sweet kid. Very talented, but a little naïve, that’s why my father thought it would be better to let her attend the local college and live at home instead of going away.’

She took a deep shuddering breath and when she continued, her voice was much stronger. ‘And then, about four months or so ago she seemed to change overnight. It was as if she’d become a different person.’

‘In what way exactly?’

‘Her whole temperament altered. She became violently angry on the slightest excuse. It became almost impossible to handle her. She came home drunk a couple of times and then she started staying out all night. Naturally my father didn’t like that, but he’s often away on business and in any case, she was hardly a child.’

‘How old was she?’

‘Twenty last month. After a while, there was trouble at the college. She behaved so badly that she was asked to leave.’

‘What happened then?’

‘She had a furious row with my father and ended by packing her bags and leaving. She said she intended to continue her studies at one of the London colleges.’

‘What about money? Did your father agree to support her?’

‘There was no need. She had some of her own. Just over a thousand pounds. A legacy from an old aunt a year or two ago.’

‘What about boyfriends? At the college, for instance?’

‘In the two years she was there, she never brought a single one home. As I’ve said, until that sudden dreadful change in her she was a shy, rather introverted girl, very much bound up in her work.’

‘Did she ever mention a man named Max Vernon at all?’

Harriet Craig frowned slightly. ‘Not that I recall. Who is he?’

‘Just someone who apparently knew her, but it’s of no consequence.’ Miller hesitated and went on, ‘Your sister was a drug addict, Miss Craig. Were you aware of that fact?’