Glancing furtively over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, Ian quickly logged into the Mollers’ computer again. It was easier the second time. He had the login details. He began searching for any folders he might have missed, but he couldn’t find any more. He then checked the hard drive for any folders or files that might have been deleted. Although deleted files disappeared from view, they could still be found on the hard drive if you knew where to look, which Ian did. It was part of his job. But the only deletions he found were junk mail. He then checked to see if there was any indication Moller was using other storage devices – an external hard drive or cloud, for example. But again there was nothing. Puzzled, Ian logged out and returned to the folders he’d saved on the USB stick.

He opened and skimmed through the other patient files, but not one bore a donor ID number. Ian now looked again more carefully at the two folders that didn’t contain patient details. The first was called Research and contained published papers in the field of embryonic research – not surprising. The other folder was called Second Generation and contained a spreadsheet with single-line entries of couples’ names, their contact details, the dates of birth of their babies and if they had survived. They weren’t in alphabetical order but date order, with the oldest entry at the top. Ian scrolled down the page and felt as though he was walking through an infant graveyard with so many babies not surviving. What was all this about?

Some entries had the abbreviation of A.L. beside them. He guessed that was something to do with artificial insemination as it was a fertility clinic. He continued through the spreadsheet to the last page. His heart stopped. The penultimate entry was Ian and Emma Jennings. But what was this doing here? They hadn’t used the clinic. His mouth went dry. Beside their names were the dates of the deaths of both their babies. The second also bore the abbreviation A.L. What the hell! Why was Moller collecting personal data on them? Not only did it not make sense, but it was a shocking invasion of their privacy.

Ian looked at the very last entry, the one below theirs. Grant and Chelsea Ryan. Their address wasn’t far away and they’d recently had a baby girl who had died. The same abbreviation, A.L., was in the last column.

Ian’s phone vibrated with an incoming call, jolting him from his thoughts. He picked it up. It was Emma.

‘Ian, where are you?’ she asked anxiously. ‘It’s seven o’clock. I’ve been worried.’

‘I’m sorry, I got caught up at work. I’m leaving now.’

‘Are you all right, Ian? You don’t sound good.’

‘I’ll explain when I get home. We need to talk.’

‘What is it?’