‘Okay, Marilyn. We understand,’ Joel said. ‘But the man who blackmailed those girls, who blackmailed Emma, we’re making progress on that. I want to be able to talk to you, to keep you informed. Can I do that?’ Joel took his card out of his pocket and waved it, trying to break the spell between Marilyn and DS Rose. ‘Maybe you can call me when you know it’s safe to do so, save me turning back up here?’

Marilyn looked over at him, still holding DS Rose by the wrist. ‘Please … please don’t come here. He’ll know!’ The fear was so real it went against every instinct for Joel to walk away.

‘Hannah gave you her word, didn’t she? That she would keep you safe. She might be gone but I’m here and now it’s my word, OK?’ Joel suddenly didn’t want to be handing this over to anyone else as a DV Referral. He felt invested. He wanted to help.

Marilyn fixed on him again, her lips trembled, her jaw creased and she huffed through her nose. She was fighting herself; there was something she needed to say. Finally she forced her words.

‘You need to go.’

Chapter 48

The doors swooshing open seemed to be just the invitation an empty cigarette carton and crushed bottle of juice were waiting for. They made a dart for the public entrance to Folkestone Police Station behind a chilly breeze that swept in to fill the front counter in an instant. Hayley Mears tugged the zip up on her police-issue fleece top until it covered her chin.

‘Good afternoon.’ The man who stepped in from the thickening dusk had a deep voice, though it was muffled by a front counter that was higher than a standard reception might be – but then a standard reception didn’t need to factor in someone coming off the street to leap over it and attack the persons behind. Hayley had manned this desk for over ten years – enough time to have just about seen it all. She stood up to greet her latest visitor. He didn’t look like a man about to leap over. He looked old enough to know better and was dressed more like he was late for a wedding than up for a fight. He wore a tie that caught in the harsh ceiling lights and fell down a shirt that hinted at a straight crease across the front like it had been fresh out of a packet that morning. He had a sniff, suggesting the cold had got to him, and his nose glowed red to stand out more against a neat beard that was largely grey, its edges determined by a razor. She recognised him as one of the regulars.