The night streets felt eerie, deserted. The odd light behind windows, people with warm homes to hunker down in. I no longer had a home. My cottage was surrounded by the press, rifled through by the police, and Brandy was gone from me, likely absorbed into Marilyn’s barking pack. What was left for me here in Coldwater? Nothing. Once I had cleared my name, I would run away again, start over.

Within fifteen minutes, already soaked in a fine mist of rain, I was at Happy Paws. I still had my keys. Marilyn had not thought to ask for them – poor, trusting Marilyn. She had no idea what people are capable of when their back’s against the wall.

Inside the shelter was dark, only faint lights from the dog pens and the hum of computers idling for the night. Hearing me, the dogs started up a chorus of barks and howls. Warning of an intruder. If only the Safrans had owned a dog, might everything be very different? Probably not.

I unlocked the door to their area, and went from pen to pen, calming them. ‘Hush, hush now. Ruby, be quiet. Jack, it’s me, you silly. It’s Rachel.’ Eventually they calmed, recognising my scent, and the only sound was the odd huff of breath or the scrabble of claws on concrete. I moved back into the office. Once, I’d felt at home here, the peeling advice posters on the wall, the clunky radiators and drips of coffee all over the little kitchen. Shabby, comfortable. I fired up the computer, pleased that my log-in still worked. Marilyn would never have thought to bar me from the system. I knew the intern applications were saved in a folder on the shared drive, so I quickly clicked in and searched for the right ones, to find out the boys’ surnames.

Tom Bastion, that was the tall one. David Safran had been tall too, and dark-haired like this boy. Could he be Carson? His accent was posh, Home Counties. He didn’t sound American, but Carson had come here as a child and likely didn’t either now. I ran through his CV in the hope of finding clues. Born in Surrey, in May 2000. Carson had been born in February, but that could easily be a lie. Educated at some private school, where he was rugby captain. At university he also played rugby and cricket. Not how I’d imagined Carson turning out, but what did I know? Just because I’d cared for him as a baby, before he would even remember, that didn’t mean I knew what kind of man he’d grow into.