‘The apartment is lonely without you.’ She doubts that. He’s usually at his bar until late. But, still, he sounds like he’s missing her. Maybe her suspicions about him are wrong.

But he doesn’t ask after Saffy or her mother, she thinks, with a stab of disappointment. ‘I’m needed here right now. Saffy’s pregnant . . .’ She recounts everything that’s happened since she’s been in Beggars Nook but she suspects she’s lost him somewhere along the way because he sounds bored when he replies.

‘As long as you come back soon, mi amor. Me muero por verte.’

‘I can’t wait to see you too,’ she lies, ending the call with a heavy heart.

She spends the next hour sifting through her mother’s papers, hoping to find anything else of interest, some more photos maybe. Perhaps of her father. Most of the time she didn’t think much about her dad but there were occasions when she missed having a father around. She remembers once at school when she was about ten, they’d had to do a general knowledge quiz – over a full week they were tasked to see who could come up with the most facts – but the library was in town, and without a car to get there she could use only the old-fashioned encyclopaedia her mother had in the house. Her best friend, Anne, won because her dad took her to the library every night for a week to help her find what she needed. She had felt jealous of Anne then, with her doting father and his Mini Metro. Lorna had come last in the quiz.

Her hand brushes the newspaper article about Sheila that they’d found yesterday. She scans it again, wondering why her mother chose to keep it. Had Sheila been her mum’s friend? Had she always hoped to get to the bottom of what had happened to her? It sounds like a straightforward case of drowning to Lorna. And then she notices it. And is surprised they didn’t realize it yesterday.

Alan Hartall, 38, a neighbour of Miss Watts, said, ‘Sheila was a bit of a loner. Kept herself to herself, although I got to know her quite well.’

Alan Hartall. Wasn’t that the same surname as her mother’s lodger, Daphne? Is that why her mum had kept the article? She stands up and rushes out of the room across to Saffy’s, barging in without knocking.

Saffy looks up. ‘What now, Mum? I’m already behind, thanks to reporters knocking on my door for most of the morning.’

Lorna slams the article down on the desk in front of her. ‘Sorry, honey, but look at this,’ she says, indicating the line. ‘Alan Hartall. Same surname as Daphne.’

Saffy turns to her mother, her eyes alight. ‘Oh.’

‘We need to investigate it. It could be a link to finding Daphne if they’re related.’