‘What’s that?’ Ashworth’s question annoyed her because she was just navigating a tricky patch, but she looked all the same. A small car stuck, water up to the bumper, the driver’s door wide open. Ashworth had the righteous indignation of the careful driver; he always seemed old before his time: ‘They must have been mad trying to get down here without four-wheel drive.’

Then Vera knew that the little girl was in danger, not of having bad dreams and tarnished childhood memories, but of not growing old enough to remember anything.

‘Out!’ she said. ‘Quick! We haven’t the time for this.’ She was wearing wellingtons, but Ashworth was still in his work shoes, newly polished every morning. He looked at the mud and slime surrounding the vehicle and hesitated. She’d already gone four paces down the track, slithering and swearing at every step. She glanced back at him, still in the Land Rover. ‘Do you want another child drowned? Get out here, man. That’s an order.’ As she spoke, she knew she was being unfair. If she’d shared her fears with him, he’d have been there before her.

They ran together past the garden with the strange statues and the tall wall covered in ivy and, reaching the edge of the pool, she thought they were too late. She saw the rowing boat, the man inside, bent over his oars and so intent on pulling his way across the water that he didn’t see them. And she saw the mother and her child on the deck, following his progress.

‘They’re all right then,’ Joe said. He was frosty with her and had every right to be. ‘He’s gone to save them.’ Implying that there was no need for the fuss and the ruined shoes.

‘No, pet, that’s the last thing he wants to do. He hates happy families.’

Vera stood watching. She was completely powerless. The boathouse was on the other side of the pond, too far away for her to shout, so she couldn’t warn Connie. Besides, what could the woman do if she heard? She was imprisoned there.

And, Vera thought, the man in the boat would be impossible to scare now. With the second murder he’d gone beyond reason. This was like one of those nightmares when you scream and no sound comes, when you try to run, but your feet won’t move.

‘It was him,’ Ashworth said. ‘All the time? Of course. I should have recognized the car.’

She didn’t answer. They watched the man climb onto the boathouse deck. They couldn’t see Connie or the girl, who were still inside. Ashworth slipped away from her and made his way through the undergrowth, following the line of the floodwater to the point where the boathouse was closest to the bank. No thought for his shoes now or for his Marks and Spencer suit.