‘I gave her the chance to explain,’ he said. ‘That only seemed right.’

‘And when was that, Ryan?’ As if she just needed her memory jogging.

‘A couple of nights before . . .’ he said.

‘. . . before you killed her?’

‘I went up to her room,’ he said. ‘Knocked at her door.’

Vera pictured him slouched against the door frame. Made cocky by the photo. Information is power. But still nervous inside. Still the little boy who’d had nightmares, who’d run away from Margaret in town.

‘She let you in?’ Vera allowed a little surprise into her voice. ‘She liked her privacy.’

‘She said that she wanted to talk.’ He was less certain now. ‘She made me tea.’

‘And you showed her the photograph.’

‘I put it on the table.’ He paused and looked away.

‘And she was angry,’ Vera said. ‘I’d guess she was very angry.’

‘She had no right.’ His face turned red again. ‘She was the one dressed up like a slut. She was the one whose photo was in Stuart’s wallet.’

‘What did she say exactly, Ryan? This is very important. We need it word-for-word if you can.’

‘She said that if I expected her to pay for the return of the picture, I was very much mistaken.’ He was a natural mimic and for the first time Vera thought she could hear Margaret’s voice. Clear, decisive. ‘She said that she’d made allowances for my behaviour. I’d had a tough time. She’d asked Malcolm to give me work and she’d been pleased with my progress there. But this was my last chance. If she caught me thieving or skipping school again, she’d go to the police. She’d tell them that I’d stolen from Stuart and from the Haven, and that I’d attempted to blackmail her.’ He broke off and his natural voice returned. ‘As if I was bothered. She was a snooty cow. And a tart.’

‘What did she do with the photo, please, Ryan?’ Because they hadn’t found it in her room, but she’d have taken it off the boy.

‘She took it from me and burned it.’ He sounded like a sulky toddler. ‘She held it over the flame of a candle.’