‘That’s it. They said Bulgarian couples didn’t want them. Well, it didn’t matter to us that she was Roma. She’s a beautiful baby. You’ve seen her, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, sir. Can you tell me who the person was you spoke to at the orphanage?’

‘Her name was Piya. Piya Yotova. I hope she doesn’t get into trouble over this. She was only trying to help.’

‘Piya Yotova is dead.’

The Lowthers gaped at her in amazement.

‘We didn’t know that.’

‘She was shot, along with a colleague, Dimitar Iliev.’

Fry took advantage of the shock clear on the Lowthers’ faces at the news.

‘Mr Lowther, now that we’ve got the truth about the so-called adoption, would you like to tell me again how you came to meet up with Rose Shepherd last Saturday.’

‘I told you, Lindsay wanted to say thank you. She wanted Miss Shepherd to know Luanne was happy and doing well, that it had all been worthwhile. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? No matter how Miss Shepherd might have bent the rules in Bulgaria, she was a caring person. You could see that she genuinely wanted the best for the child.’

‘And you got in touch with her by using the email address she’d given you in Bulgaria?’

‘Yes, that’s what I said,’ agreed Lowther cautiously.

‘Yet you’ve told me you had no way of getting in touch with her while you were there – that you always had to wait for her to phone you at the hotel.’

He hesitated, and Fry knew she was on the right track. There was more to be squeezed out of him yet.

‘Actually, that’s right,’ he said. ‘She gave me that email address when we saw her in Matlock Bath.’

‘I see. And did she happen to give you her phone number at the same time?’

‘Well, yes. So we could keep in touch in the future, you know.’

Fry could tell by the frozen expression in his eyes that Henry Lowther had no idea now whether he was saying the safe thing or not. If he denied having Rose Shepherd’s phone number, would the police be able to prove he was lying? Poor Mr Lowther. He hadn’t been as clever as he thought. He hadn’t planned his story in enough detail.

‘So the question remains, sir, how did you manage to get in contact with her before that meeting?’

‘It was the other way round,’ said Lowther. ‘It was Miss Shepherd who got in touch with us. Perhaps you’ve worked that out.’

‘Why on earth would she do that?’

Lowther had to think about that for a while. His dazed expression was starting to remind Fry of Wayne Abbott’s lamping theory. This was the way she imagined the quarry would look, caught suddenly in a beam of light, not knowing which way it should run to escape.