I tried to think when I’d last washed Madison or helped her dress. She had become shy recently, didn’t want me in the bathroom, so I’d help her into the tub then go outside, leaving the door ajar.

‘She has bruises?’

‘On her arms.’ Miss Oliver touched her own. ‘And . . . the inside of her thighs.’

‘Oh.’ I couldn’t make sense of this. ‘What are you thinking?’

She held up her hands. ‘Look, I don’t know. And it’s not at the stage yet where I’d take any action. But there are signs we watch for – bruises, acting up, like those tantrums Madison has, bed-wetting . . .’

I froze. Madison was wetting the bed almost every night at the moment. ‘Signs of what?’

The pretty young teacher didn’t want to say it, I could tell. ‘Well – of abuse.’

I gaped at her, suddenly aware of the early-morning heat rising up off the tarmacked playground, or whatever they called them in America. I was Casey’s nanny. Wouldn’t I know if someone was hurting her? I thought suddenly of Abby, hauling the child out of the pool, her fingers digging into the flesh until the knuckles turned white. And despite the heat of the day, I felt cold all over.

Rachel

Rachel

This time they took me to a different station, the big one over in Barrow, where the MIT were based. I gathered this stood for Major Investigation Team. The station in Barrow was a lot bigger, with more rigorous security, uniformed officers scurrying down the corridors, phones ringing constantly and voices murmuring. I tried to focus on the details of my surroundings, but it was hard not to be swamped in panic. Nothing had changed, I told myself. It wasn’t illegal to go by a different name, or to conceal a past conviction that had been overturned. I was innocent. All the same, it was hard to hang on to that as I was escorted in for interview. I wasn’t in cuffs, but I had been rearrested, and the threat was clear. ‘What’s going on?’ I pleaded with DS Hegarty. ‘Have you found something new – can you tell me? Is it true Anna had a head injury too?’

With a slight roll of his green eyes, he directed me to the interview suite.

‘You’ve been involved in a murder enquiry before, Rachel, yes? Because you don’t seem to have any idea how it all works.’

It was much fancier in this station. The carpet smelled new, a strong chemical reek, and there was a video camera recording my every move, making me even more nervous. ‘So let me get this straight,’ DS Hegarty said, after the formalities were done. ‘Your real name is Casey Adams, and you were convicted of three murders in America in 2000.’