‘It’s all right girl,’ he whispered. ‘You’re safe now. I promise.’ He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her gently until her shaking stopped and then he reached for the inhaler. ‘Drop! Let me have it.’ She released it into his hand. ‘No one will ever know,’ he told her as he shoved it into his pocket. ‘Come on girl. We need to go.’ He prayed that she would follow him. He unlocked the back gate as quietly as he could and when he checked, the dog was close behind him. Taking her by the collar, he let himself into his own back garden and walked into the house shouting, ‘Mum! Mum! I think something’s happened to Jimmy Cox!’

Imelda picked up the asthma inhaler and ran her finger over the faint indentations on its surface. She smiled. ‘Teeth marks. I always wondered what they were.’

Treasure was looking at her expectantly, awaiting her verdict; absolution or reprobation. As a child, he had never given it a second thought. He had rescued Star and that was all that had mattered. He had worried briefly when he realised that the inhaler had gone missing but assumed that he had dropped it or lost it somewhere. As an adult, however – and a police officer – his conscience had developed, and with sophistication came censure. On the rare occasion that thoughts of Jimmy Cox had surfaced in his mind, he had managed, with a little effort, to bury them again. But since he had seen the inhaler in Imelda’s booth, his sleep had been broken by nightmares relentlessly replaying the day that Jimmy Cox had died. Murder, manslaughter or misadventure? Had he acted sooner might a man’s life have been saved? No matter how wicked the man and how worthless his life, Treasure had had no right to play God. And was there any chance that Star had known what she was doing? She had probably seen Jimmy Cox use the inhaler before, sensed that it helped him in some way. She was a collie after all.

‘Let it go.’ The verdict was in and Imelda was resolute. ‘He was an alcoholic, chain-smoking asthmatic, who died of all of the above. He was also a complete and utter shit. A post-mortem was deemed unnecessary, but then I’m sure you know that. You will have checked.’

‘But . . .’

‘No buts. The inhaler was virtually empty, and it would have made no difference if the ambulance had arrived a few minutes earlier. Let it go.’ Imelda had no idea how full the inhaler had been, but she knew that neither a small boy nor a terrified dog were to blame.

Treasure sighed. ‘It breaks my heart to think that Mum might have doubted me.’

‘She didn’t. Not for one moment. She knew that you had told the truth.’

‘But not the whole truth.’