“For the tape, I am reading the suspect a transcript of a text-message conversation, the recorded date of which is the day in question, the time around two hours before the abduction. This message was sent from Natasha Dowling’s phone to the phone of Patrick Tranter, and reads: ‘I’m outside your house. Maybe I’ll knock on the door, tell her everything. How would you like that?’ Do you have anything to say about that, Ms Dowling?”

Natasha stared at the table. Harper let the silence continue until it was uncomfortable. Then she leaned in close. “You must see the problem we have here.”

Natasha pressed her lips together.

“This clearly places you at the house, just before Lauren set off for the valley, on the day the twins were taken. I suggest it might be a good idea to start telling the truth. Especially if you want people to believe that you didn’t take them.”

“I could have sent that message from anywhere.”

“Sure,” said Harper, “you don’t think we can pinpoint precisely where it was sent from? The GPS on your phone will prove it, either way. Forensics are analysing it as we speak.”

Natasha sat up. “You can do that? You can tell the precise location the phone was in when text messages were sent?”

“Of course.”

“Well, there you go. I sent loads of messages to Patrick that morning, while I was in the woods. If you can tell exactly where I was when each one was sent, you’ll see that I wasn’t even on the right side of the river; that I couldn’t possibly have taken the twins.”

The solicitor looked up. He grinned at Natasha like she’d done him proud, and started to pack his things away. “I think that’s enough for now, don’t you?” he said. “When do you expect the results from the phone analysis?”

“Tomorrow, at the earliest,” said Harper.

“Well, Ms Dowling, I think it’s safe to say that by tomorrow all suspicions will be eradicated.” He turned towards Harper. “And seeing as you don’t have nearly enough evidence to charge my client now, she’ll be glad to leave immediately.”

Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Pink light from the setting sun reflected off the glass in the door as Harper pushed it open, her bike balanced on one shoulder. Inside the building, perching on the communal stairs in her pencil skirt and heels, was Amy.

“I texted you,” she said, a greeting and a reproach all rolled together.

“How did you get in here?” said Harper, thinking, and how do you know where I live?

Amy shrugged. “Someone from the flat upstairs let me into the building. I rang the station and they said you’d gone home, so I thought I’d pop round. Actually, I thought we said we were going for a drink.”

Harper lowered the bike and leaned it against the wall, unclipped her helmet.