Stephanie nodded, her eyes now wide, staring at Mark. Her face gave away nothing and Mark felt that he was either dealing with an incredible liar or someone who genuinely had no clue what Emily had been thinking.

‘We found something,’ Mark said. The letter was in an evidence bag inside the folder sitting on his lap. He opened the file as he talked. ‘When we were searching the house. It was hidden in the attic.’

He glanced across at Stephanie, who had turned in her seat and was now staring at the floor. The striplight on the ceiling above them was dim and cast an almost amber light on her. She had a jacket on, but he could see she was cold from the way she held herself.

‘I found it by chance,’ he continued, reaching down to grasp the evidence bag and move it to the front of the folder. ‘There’s a gap in the ceiling in your old bedroom, it seems. Wouldn’t take much to stand on a chair, shift the tile and stuff something in the attic. If I hadn’t flashed my torch across that particular bit of floor, I would have missed it. I don’t think anyone was supposed to find it. It’s almost like I was meant to.’

He pulled out the letter and held it in his hands. Turned it over and held it in mid-air between them. ‘Have you seen this before?’

Stephanie looked at what he was holding, squinting across at him to try and read what was written on it. Mark held it out further towards her and waited. She shook her head, but he couldn’t tell if that was in response to his question or not.

‘That’s Emily’s writing, isn’t it?’ Mark said, trying to prompt her into talking. ‘I recognised it from the journal she kept hidden in her bedroom.’

‘Yes,’ Stephanie replied, her voice quiet and thick with emotion. ‘It is. But I don’t understand…’

‘Neither did I,’ Mark said. ‘Do you want to read what she wrote, or do you want me to read it?’

She didn’t answer, simply extending a hand and taking the bag from his hands. He sat back in the seat, staring at the various leaflets and posters attached to the wall. Stephanie read silently opposite him, as he listened for any reaction from her. He remembered most of what was written there and the space was small enough for him to notice a sound without her even realising.

Stephanie read through it in a few minutes, then turned back and read it again. When she was finished, she let the bag rest on her lap and clasped her hands together as if she were offering a silent prayer for an answer to what was happening.

‘She’s wrong,’ Stephanie said finally. ‘She got it so wrong.’

‘Which part?’