She had a feeling about this apartment. There was something she couldn’t see. Inside any home, there were public places and private places. In the rooms where strangers might be expected to intrude, the contents were carefully chosen to present an image: highbrow books, artwork, the collection of expensive porcelain. But take a peek into the bedroom on your way to the loo, and you might find the truth behind the façade – the trashy novels, the S&M gear, the Prozac on the bedside table. Or in this case, perhaps, the Orphenadrine.

Fry wondered what lurked behind the foliage in a house full of plants, what a conservatory stuffed with fuchsias and tree ferns ought to be telling her. On the way down to Matlock, she’d phoned in and asked them to check the details of Luanne’s adoption with the authorities in Bulgaria. A link might emerge, or an inconsistency.

Cooper walked in clutching a bottle of Buxton Spring water, as if he was taking a break at home in his own sitting room.

‘What are you thinking about, Diane?’ he asked.

‘Henry Lowther.’

‘Not pleasant thoughts, judging by your expression.’

‘I was just wondering . . .’

‘Don’t keep it to yourself, then.’

‘Well, Brian Mullen said the reason Luanne wasn’t in the house at Darwin Street on the night of the fire was because she was staying at her grandparents’. She wasn’t sleeping through the night, and the Lowthers had taken the child to give him and Lindsay a rest, to let them get a night’s sleep. That’s what he said.’

‘Sounds fair enough.’

‘Mr Lowther didn’t seem to know that, though.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Oh, I might be mistaken,’ said Fry. ‘It was only an impression, because of the way he hesitated when I mentioned it. And that was my own fault – I prompted him with Mullen’s version of events, instead of asking him outright. I didn’t think it was important at the time, you see.’

‘Probably it isn’t.’

‘I expect you’re right. Brian and Luanne were the only two members of the family who weren’t at home when the fire started. But it must have been by chance, mustn’t it?’

‘So where do we go from here, Diane?’ asked Cooper.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘What leads do we have that can be followed up?’

‘None that I know of.’

‘Have we got any clues at all?’

‘No.’

Cooper tipped the last of the water into his mouth and tossed the empty bottle into a bin.

‘We’re really getting on top of this enquiry, then,’ he said.

Fry didn’t react. Let him think she was mellowing with age, if he wanted to. Or that she just didn’t care any more.

‘You know, John Lowther reminded me a bit of that story you told me,’ she said.

Cooper looked round. ‘Story?’