That one came from left field and smacked him in the kidneys. He felt the colour drain from his face. He had to hand it to the detective: she was ballsy. He understood the impact it could have: two teenagers begging the public for information about how their mum was butchered in broad daylight in a park.

It might make up for his ban on them coming to the hospital.

‘I would. They’re old enough to decide. I think, knowing the two of them, they’ll say yes.’

‘It will help. Someone out there knows who did this, and I’m going to find them.’

He looked at her again, and saw something in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since before he retired. It was a look very few people had: pure grit and determination. For the first time that day, he felt something akin to relief.

The detective held out her hand. He shook it. She had a strong grip. She smiled warmly at him.

‘Take my card and call me – day or night – if anything comes to you. I mean absolutely anything; it could be the tiniest detail.’

‘I will.’ He took the card. ‘Thank you, Detective.’

‘Call me Kelly. How are the kids?’

‘Awful. I just don’t know what the future holds. I can’t think. Ella was everything to us. She was everything to them. She does everything for them. Did. I can’t even begin to think about filling that gaping hole.’ The tears came again.

‘Don’t pull yourself to pieces. Allow yourself to be angry, or anything you want to be. It’s early days.’ She passed him another tissue and he held it to his eyes. ‘Take it slowly; rely on friends and your mother. Take full advantage of the family liaison officers, they’re excellent.’

He nodded.

‘Have you heard of Neil Ormond?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I have.’ Kelly concluded from the question that the super hadn’t yet contacted his friend. Odd.

‘Does he work here? He’s a personal friend. I wondered if he could help us.’

‘Superintendent Ormond is overseeing the case, Thomas. I report to him.’

Thomas’s eyes widened. He tapped the table resolutely. ‘Well, we’re in safe hands then. Can I go now? I want to be with my children.’

‘Of course.’

Chapter 8

Millie Watson buried her head in her pillow. Her bedroom was her place of safety and security. But it felt different now. She kept looking to the door, expecting Mum to come in and nag her about homework, or tell her that tea was ready, or ask if she’d fed the cat.

The pain was physical.

So was the anger. Dad knew they weren’t stupid, and that they’d read about it online sooner or later. Mum had been stabbed to death. Stabbed. It made her feel sick.