Hobbes recalled Rosamund’s exact words: ‘And so, to be born from the night flesh, what would that mean?’

One hand fluttered, birdlike, at her brow. ‘That madness has made you what you are, from birth onwards. Passed on like a sickness in the blood.’

‘A kind of fate, or destiny?’

‘The most terrible kind.’

Hobbes nodded, and turned, and walked out into the corridor, glad of the fresh air. He met DS Latimer in the car park. As they drove out on to Maze Hill she brought him up to date: ‘I talked to members of staff, and to a doctor they have on call. Mrs Graves seems well enough liked, or they were all being diplomatic. No visitors apart from her grandson, David Kepple. And she was here on Sunday evening. So you can stop fantasizing that an eighty-odd woman went out one night and bashed her son’s head in with a rock.’

‘That never entered my mind.’

‘I know your mind. It stinks. You always think the worst.’

‘She might have employed someone.’

‘There you go.’

‘What did the doctor say?’

‘He wasn’t forthcoming, which is fair enough. But he hinted that she hasn’t got long on this earth.’

This time, Hobbes didn’t respond.

‘Something puzzling you?’

‘What? No, no, just thinking. Look, Meg, take us back via Peckham, will you?’

‘Any particular reason?’

‘Something I want to show you.’

They stopped at a zebra crossing. An old man took a while to get across, dragging a shopping trolley behind him.

Latimer asked, ‘What did you learn from talking to Mary? Sorry, Mary Estelle. She was very strict about that.’

‘Yeah. It was her stage name, I guess. The name she was known by, at the height of her fame.’ At last the car moved on. ‘She told me a whole bunch of stories, but I don’t know which are true. And, worse than that, I don’t think she does either. She claimed Adeline was the name of her fourth child.’

‘What? That’s amazing.’

‘Maybe. But one minute later she had gone back to three kids only. Then she wanted to show me a picture of Adeline. But all the photos of the girl, or the woman, were missing from the album.’ He could not get the smell of the perfume out of his nostrils. ‘I think she removed them herself, to be honest.’

‘Not the full shilling, then?’

‘Perhaps, but she’s only a halfpenny short. There’s a clear mind at work in there, I’m certain of it.’

‘Maybe …’

‘You’ve got an idea?’

Latimer had an eager look about her. ‘Yeah, I’m thinking back on what Rosamund told us, that Adeline wasn’t real, that she was a fantasy child. Maybe the kid died at birth, stillborn, something like that, yet in Mary Estelle’s mind she’s still totally real. So the family play along with this, to keep their mother happy.’

‘Keep going.’

‘They have a stage in one room. A friggin’ stage! I mean, can’t you just picture them all, playing out this little drama, conjuring up a missing child. Adeline. And – and I can see Mary Estelle right there, in the audience, sitting on a chair …’