I know you, Jack. You think like me. You would have taken those photographs thinking that I would never, ever report you because of, you know, the shame. The shame of being caught. That’s where you are wrong. Maybe I would have been ashamed if we were still married, but we’re not, are we? I’m too far gone now to be ashamed. Too numb from missing my babies.

No. I’m going to call your bluff. You’ve upped the stakes, thinking I will back down now. Thinking I will give the journal back, drop trying to get my kids back. But I never will. No. What I’m going to do is play you at your own game. Two can play at this little fucked-up game. Tit for tat, is it? There’s only one thing for it. It’s risky and I don’t really want to do it but you’ve left me no choice. You have to take risks to get what you want and I want retribution. I take my mobile phone and dial.

‘DS Percy.’

I take a deep breath.

‘Oh, hi, Lorraine. That’s OK, is it, Lorraine? I just wanted to … Well, this is all a bit awkward.’

‘Go on.’

I know the rules. Take the risk. Always pre-empt.

‘Well, the thing is … I’ve received some photos. Of me and … and … some men.’

There’s silence as she processes it.

‘OK. What sort of photographs?’

‘They’re the type of photographs that could be used to blackmail me. Sexual. And there’s a message. Saying someone is watching me. I’m quite scared.’

It’s not a lie. I am quite scared. But that’s nothing new. And when I’m scared I spiral off at a tangent, but not this time. Not when DS Percy can be so useful to me.

‘So do you know the person in the picture?’

‘Yes. Yes. Well, I, er, I slept with him last night. And there was one from a couple of weeks ago. Look, I want to make an Official complaint. This is harassment. I’d like to make a statement.’

She sighs. ‘Of course you do. And your husband is complaining about some missing bag. The thing is, Caroline, this isn’t the sort of thing we spend a lot of time on. I can give you a crime number and you can come and see me tomorrow. Just give me some details now and I’ll give you a crime number.’

She’s not biting. Damn.

‘Well, I was at the Premier Inn on Halton Street last night with this man. And the other week I was at the Premier Inn on Walker Street.’

‘With a different man?’

‘Yes.’

There’s a silence and the flip of pages. The tap of keys.

‘Was this man last night called Peter Daubney?’