Kate Dewar was on her own in the house when she heard a knock on the door, familiar like the personalized ringtone of a phone. Chloe had said she was out with a friend: Kate suspected a boy, but she hadn’t asked. Ryan was away on his wanderings. He’d talked about going into town with some mates and she hadn’t seen him all day. Stuart would come along later. Kate opened the door, recognizing the knock and knowing that Inspector Vera Stanhope would be standing outside.

The woman looked exhausted and she didn’t have her sergeant with her.

‘Come in!’ Kate showed her into the lounge. ‘Would you like a drink? Whisky?’ Because this seemed like an informal visit. It was something to do with the expression on the inspector’s face. She seemed softer and more human.

‘I’d better not, pet. I’m still working. Maybe you should have one, though, eh?’

And that was when Kate had the first idea that something dreadful was about to happen and that her world would never be the same again. ‘What’s wrong? Is somebody dead?’ Because the policeman who’d come to tell her about Robbie’s accident had looked at her in exactly the same way.

Vera shook her head. ‘We’ve got your Ryan in custody. He’s been charged with murder.’

‘No!’ Kate cried. ‘He wouldn’t. Not Margaret . . . he loved her.’ But even as she spoke the words, Kate wondered if they’d ever been true. If her son was capable of loving anyone.

Vera said nothing for a while. She just looked. Then she shook her head again. ‘He wanted to make money out of her. He’s a great one for money, your Ryan. Money and lasses, and being his own boss.’ No judgement behind the words. It was just as if she was listing the facts of the case. And Kate knew that Vera was telling the truth. Perhaps she’d been frightened of hearing this knock on the door since Margaret had been killed. Frightened of hearing that her strange, prowling, angry son was a murderer.

‘What happened?’ Kate was staring into the other woman’s face. Vera had poured her a drink and Kate held it with both hands.

The detective sat down opposite to her. ‘Ryan had been thieving,’ she said. ‘Stealing when he was out on his night-time wanderings. Stealing from Margaret’s charity collecting boxes too. I checked with the vicar over the road. The last six months, Margaret’s takings had gone down. She made some excuse, but she must have guessed. Had Ryan been stealing from you? From Stuart and Chloe?’

‘Sometimes I thought he’d taken money from my purse,’ Kate said. ‘But he was clever. It was never much at once, and I couldn’t be certain.’ She thought she wouldn’t have been able to admit that to anyone else in the world.