‘The method. The parents were killed by blows to the head.’

‘But not late at night. In their house?’

‘That’s right. It seemed possible there was a link because of the hammer, but that’s hardly the most original choice of murder weapon.’

‘And the daughter disappeared?’

‘That was a mystery,’ Munro said. ‘It seemed like either she was killed too, or she did it and ran away, or her disappearance was totally unrelated. But I thought I’d mention it.’

‘What was her name?’ Wynne said. ‘The daughter.’

‘Andrea Petersen. I’ll ship those files over, too.’

‘Thank you,’ Wynne said. ‘I appreciate the call.’

Ambleside, July 2013

Brenda

Brenda took a mirror and a pair of scissors from her day pack. There, at the bottom of the pack, were the envelopes of cash. Fucking Alice had seen them; they had almost given her away. They were a sign of the precariousness of her existence.

Thankfully she wouldn’t need them any more. Her existence was about to become a lot more secure.

She propped the mirror against a rock and studied her reflection. She’d be glad to get rid of this hair; she only kept it so long so that when she cut it short she’d be totally unrecognizable.

And in this case, so she’d look like Alice. Her hair was close-cropped and dark; Brenda liked it, so she was glad she would soon be wearing the same hairstyle.

She took the scissors in one hand, and a fistful of hair in the other. She held it close to the roots and cut a length of blonde hair from her head.

She threw it in the lake and watched as the strands slowly separated and drifted away from the shore, then grabbed another fistful and lifted the scissors to her head.

When she’d finished she took a baseball cap from Alice’s rucksack and put it on her head. She’d have to dye her hair, but for now the cap was enough. She took off her shorts and tank top and pulled a shirt and jeans from Alice’s rucksack. Alice was a similar size to her, although her clothes were looser fitting.

It would have to do, and it would be enough. Anyone seeing Brenda in Alice’s cap and clothes would assume it was Alice, unless they got up close, which Brenda had no intention of letting them do.

She packed everything away and stood up, heaving the rucksack onto her shoulders. She looked out over Wast Water. It was silent and ancient. It was not the type of place that gave up its secrets easily.

But it was the kind of place that had them.

Near the shore, her hair slowly drifted away. Brenda nodded, a small sign of satisfaction at a job well done, then set off along the rocky path.