Con took a seat. Madison watched him, hands folded on the table. On the back of her arms he spotted scars from self-harm, pale lines. He’d never noticed them before. Her eyes burned like a zealot, a smirk tugging at her red lips. ‘What’s on your mind, detective?’

Anger rushed through him. ‘How did you know Bree was hanging there?’ he said.

‘Whatever do you mean, detective?’ said Madison.

‘You arranged for hundreds of people to see her. Just like you did with Denni. Why?’ said Con.

‘Well, I’m not admitting to anything at all, but theoretically, if you killed yourself, wouldn’t you want hundreds of people to see you? To finally feel for you?’ she said. ‘Footage of Bree is all over the internet now. No one will ever forget.’

‘How did you know she was there?’

‘Don’t you understand, detective? My subscriber count is now eighteen million,’ she said.

‘And the other girls? Cierra and Jasmine? Georgia?’

She watched him. No response: just a tiny lick of her lips.

‘You need to tell me the truth,’ he said.

‘I am telling the truth,’ Madison said.

‘How did you know that Bree was there?’ said Con again. ‘She died three days ago.’

A flicker of doubt on Madison’s face. ‘What are you talking about? She died moments before we got there. Her blood was still warm.’

‘I can show you the reports. How did you know she was there? Did you tell her to do it, like you told Denni?’

‘You’re lying. It wasn’t three days since she’d died.’

‘Did you tell her that it was the only way to stop the Hungry Man?’

‘Badenhorst!’ snapped the commander. He hadn’t even heard the door open. ‘Outside. Now!’

He stepped into the hallway with her, shaking.

‘Go back to the Inn, Cornelius,’ she said, her voice so icy it could have frosted the window.

‘Two girls are still out there!’

‘Stop, Cornelius,’ she hissed. ‘If you leave your hotel – and believe me, I will know – I’ll take you off the case.’

Their exchange had drawn a crowd in the corridor, including Doble.

Con turned to walk away, but Agatha said, ‘Wait. Give me your phone.’

‘What?’

‘Give me your phone, Badenhorst, or I am taking you off the case. I’ll not have you contacting Gabriella or Murphy or whoever else you’ll manipulate into doing your investigating for you.’

He threw his phone at her feet, then pushed through the crowd and ducked into a bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, he willed himself to calm down. He hadn’t been so angry in a long time.

‘Hello, detective,’ said Sergeant Doble, walking in behind him. He was in uniform, and his basset-hound face was alive with malice.

‘What do you want?’

‘Heard you were investigating me,’ he said.

‘Not yet,’ said Con.