‘I couldn’t leave,’ I say. ‘Not without knowing what happened to my real mother. Where her body is buried.’ My words are stumbly and tearful. I’m a good actress, if I do say so myself. ‘And … and I’ll shoot you if you don’t tell me.’

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ says Michael. ‘Your real mother is dead. Okay? A real tragedy. Come on now. Go to the gate.’

Of course he wants me to go to the gate. There’s a camera at the gate. Michael needs CCTV footage of me appearing to leave. That way, if the police ever ask about me being here, he can show them evidence that I left willingly.

‘I need to know the truth,’ I say, making the words choked and frightened. ‘Did Annalise die here? Is this where she’s buried?’

‘If I tell you, will you go to the gate?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. You’re right. Annalise died in these grounds.’

‘And you buried her in the woods?’

Michael hesitates.

‘You must have done,’ I say. ‘Where else would her body be?’

‘Okay, Liberty. Yes, I buried her in the woods. And I’ll do the same to you if you don’t do as you’re told.’

‘Skywalker,’ I click my fingers. ‘Here boy.’

Skywalker trots to my side.

Michael takes a big, surprised breath. ‘Your dog. He’s … he’s up and about, is he?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ I say. ‘He’s fine. So listen. I’ve got a deal for you.’

‘A deal?’ Michael’s black eyes glimmer. ‘What are you talking about, a deal? Go to the gate. And give me that bloody gun, for goodness sake. You’ll hurt yourself.’

‘This is the deal.’ I take out my phone from my denim shorts pocket.

‘Where did you get that phone from?’ says Michael. ‘Did your mother—’

‘I’ve had my phone the whole time,’ I tell Michael. ‘I’m calling the police now. I’m going to tell them that you held me captive and that there are human remains in your woodlands. Which my dog sniffed out. But before that, give me the key to the turret room so I can let my mother out.’

‘Liberty.’ Michael’s face goes rigid. ‘Give me that phone. Right now.’

I press the button to wake the screen.

Predictably, Michael lunges for me.

Skywalker leaps forward, snapping and barking. He’s not so cowardly after all. I told a white lie about that. Actually, the police let him go because he was too aggressive and bit an old lady carrying a bag full of fireworks. Also, I’ve been attack-training him for months with a bite sleeve and a mannequin in black jeans and sunglasses.

To Michael’s credit, he only looks frightened for a moment. Then he steps back and reconsiders his position.

‘Give me the gun, Liberty.’

‘Give me the key, Michael.’

‘You’re not going to shoot me, so just hand it over.’