Harper stepped between the man and the journalist, and lowered her voice to speak to Patrick. “We need to get the babies checked by a doctor as soon as possible. We need to make sure they are unharmed, and also it’s going to help our investigation. Depending on what the doctor finds, we may need to collect physical evidence.”

Patrick looked sickened at the idea of physical evidence. Good, thought Harper, keep your mind on what’s important.

“So Patrick, coffee?” said Amy.

“I’m sorry,” said Patrick, “I can’t, not now.”

Amy dropped a hip, stuck out her full, lipsticked lower lip and handed Patrick a business card. Big, faux-sad eyes, followed by a little smile. “If you ever want to tell your story, Patrick. I’ll be waiting.”

The two women exchanged a not entirely friendly glance before Amy turned on her heels and walked towards the cafe. The journalist leaned towards a loitering nosy bastard near the door, taking him by the arm. Harper heard her say, “Excuse me, can I have a word? I’m from the Mail,” before they disappeared inside.

The uppermost baby was looking at Harper. The other one, in green, made a noise like a sea-bird. The baby’s voice must have jolted Patrick into remembering, so that he blurted, “They’ll be hungry soon, what shall I do? They’re exclusively breastfed.”

“We can stop on the way to the hospital for some formula,” said Harper. “They’ll be fine with that until you can get them over to the unit and back to their mother.”

“We’re taking them to the psychiatric unit? Is that allowed?” Patrick’s face betrayed his horror at this idea.

Harper smiled reassuringly. “Yes, it’s encouraged. In fact it’s mandatory—the place she’s gone to is especially for mothers and babies.”

He seemed doubtful. “Right.”

“They’re really lovely over at Hope—your wife is in safe hands.”

His eyes were on the babies. She knew he was thinking: but what about the babies? Would they be safe in their mother’s hands? She’d been about to push them into the river, after all.

The Bishop was a good deal higher than it had been before the storm—the water must have been running off the hills further upstream, collecting in the bottom of the valley. It had swelled and flooded over the grass, almost to the edge of the pavement they stood on. Patrick locked eyes with Harper.

“Do you think she’ll be OK?” he asked.

“Of course. She just needs some rest. She’s a strong person, I can tell.”

“You’re right, she is strong. Or, she used to be. Before the birth.”

Harper patted him on the shoulder, twice, and bent to inspect the babies. “They’re very calm, aren’t they?”

“Are they?” said Patrick. He glanced down at them distractedly. “I suppose.”