She leads the way down the corridor towards the therapy room with Caroline padding behind her. She can almost hear the woman’s brain whirring with excitement.

‘So,’ Caroline sits forward in her seat, the dark circles under her eyes belying her cheerful tone, ‘how can I help you, Kate?’

Whilst ‘Joy’ is straight-spined and eager, Kate is recumbent and relaxed – or at least that’s the impression she wants to give. She crosses one leg over the other and looks her adversary in the eye.

‘I think it’s time we were honest with each other, Joy.’

Caroline tips her head to one side. She’s modelled herself on a fucking Labrador, Kate thinks irritably. Greedy, largely confused, but eager to please. ‘In what way?’

‘Why don’t you start by telling me who you really are?’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.’

Kate crosses her arms over her chest. ‘Just cut the shit, Caroline.’

‘Who?’

‘Caroline Harding, journalist.’

‘I don’t know what you mean?’

‘No?’ Kate slips her phone out of her pocket and taps at the screen. Seconds later Caroline’s pocket rings. As she touches a hand to it Kate ends the call. ‘The phone in your pocket has the same number as the business card I found in Geraldine’s coat. Don’t insult me by denying it.’

Caroline sits back in her seat. The simpering smile has gone, replaced by an amused grin. ‘I wouldn’t dream of insulting you, Kate.’

‘You already have, by coming here.’

Caroline shrugs. ‘You reap what you sow.’

‘And what is it you think I’ve sown?’

‘There’s no point in telling you because you’d only deny it.’

‘Try me.’

‘You killed Jenna Fitzgerald.’

‘What?’ Kate stares at her, aghast.

‘You act surprised.’

‘And that’s why you’re here? Because you think I killed Jenna? She committed suicide. An official inquiry—’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’ Caroline waves a hand through the air. ‘We both know that was bullshit. What did you do? Pay off the Gozoian police? Is that how the blood went missing? And half the witness statements?’

‘What …’ Kate’s heart pounds in her chest. ‘What blood?’

Caroline laughs. ‘You’re good. And I thought I was the actress.’

‘I didn’t … I don’t … I don’t know what you’re talking about?’

‘Course you don’t.’

She can’t take it in. She’d summoned Caroline to the therapy room to stop her selling a story about the white-water rafting accident and now she’s being accused of murder.

‘How much?’ she asks.

Caroline raises her eyebrows. ‘How much what?’

‘How much do you want?’

‘Wow.’ Caroline looks at her incredulously. ‘You’re quite something.’