The guy was so obviously a shitbag, and it concerned James that he appeared so worked up over something that happened twenty years ago. Was it because he was now in his fifties and without children of his own? Or did he resent the fact that Annie had taken action without consulting him and he wanted to make her pay for that?

James knew that Daniel wouldn’t believe Annie, even if she told him that she’d never had an abortion, and he didn’t think she should have to lie. She was only sixteen at the time and they had split up – it was the right choice for her given the situation. There was no reason for her not to tell the truth.

James switched off the television. He had seen and heard enough of the news, which had been dominated by the weather and ‘The Christmas Killer’ who was terrorising a Cumbrian village.

But he wasn’t ready for bed so he turned his attention to Lorna Manning’s suitcase. He’d already emptied the contents onto the coffee table, but hadn’t yet sifted through it all. There were small personal diaries going back some ten years, plus a bunch of cardboard folders and large brown envelopes.

He didn’t plan to wade through them all tonight, and would send them over to Kendal tomorrow, but he was curious to know if any of the files and documents offered a useful insight into their second victim.

The first three envelopes he opened contained the sort of things that are often stored away in drawers, filing cabinets and cases. There were Lorna’s divorce papers, her son’s birth certificate, life and home insurance policies, and documents relating to her career as a teacher.

It was when he picked up the fourth envelope in the pile that he realised he hadn’t been wasting his time. On the front was written a single sentence: Open in the event of my death.

Inside was a sheet of A4 paper with a number of printed paragraphs on one side, along with two newspaper cuttings dated ten years ago.

Once James had read through them, he had the answer as to why the headmistress had been such a troubled soul.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Tuesday December 20th

James snapped awake to the blare of the alarm clock on Tuesday morning, five days before Christmas. He turned on his side, stretched out an arm, and flicked it off.

It was 7 a.m. and it took him a moment to realise that he was alone in the bed. He hadn’t heard Annie get up, which was unusual, and he put it down to the whiskey in his system.

He felt limp with fatigue as he climbed out of bed, but at least he didn’t have a hangover. He pulled on tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt, and opened the curtains.

Snow as white as a new page hugged the village like a blanket, and though it had stopped falling, James knew it was just a brief respite. An opaque, grey sky offered the promise that more was on the way.