Liv’s spent her whole life making excuses for Amy. Even as children, Liv would be the one getting into fights, defending her little sister for something she’d done or said. Liv could throw a punch, but Amy was manipulative and devious. Getting other kids into trouble from schemes that she herself had come up with. Amy liked the control, and if she wasn’t in charge, then god help you.

And Liv knows why. Like her, their mother was an alcoholic. An unpredictable drunk, happy one moment, unconscious the next. Money was scarce. Food even more so. Liv had to grow up fast, keeping life normal for her baby sister, getting her dressed while mopping up vomit and smashed glass from their mother’s latest bender. Keeping Amy away from the guys. Those guys. The men that decided they wanted the younger model. Who wanted to know why they had to pay fifty quid for the run-down, worn-out lush when they could have the sixteen-year-old virgin instead. And what did it matter? She had a bit of extra cash, and they left Amy alone.

So, as they got older, Liv turned to alcohol and coke, and Amy went the other way. Amy had been protected. And as a result she was free to build a life for herself with a nice career, in a big house, with a loving husband. Everything Liv had been denied.

And now? Liv lights a new cigarette from the butt of the old. Amy is something else entirely. And, if the truth be known, it scares the living daylights out of her.

37

Friday

Freya spends the night tossing and turning. At five a.m. she gets up and fetches the file again. She had a message from Butler that evening – How’s it going? – but she didn’t dare reply. Hiding all this from her boss, it feels more like a punishment. And in the dark cold early morning, she doubts herself.

She’s never run an investigation alone. What if she makes a wrong turn, what if she misses something important? Previously, it was her and Butler. And before him, another DS or DI. She’s had someone there, asking the right questions, telling her what to do.

But she’s a good detective, she tells herself. Cover all your bases, follow the evidence. And she knows it’s not all here. Her first stop, arranged via text the night before, is to the SCIU, to meet with the investigating officer from all those years ago.

Freya misses the road at first, turning round in the forecourt of the Volvo garage and heading back. And then she spots it.

Look for the hideous seventies building, she was told, you can’t miss it. And, sure enough, there it is. He wasn’t joking.