‘No … ahh, maybe once? I have a vague memory of my father yelling at her for it.’

‘He was abusive to her?’

‘Only verbally. He never hit her, only me.’

‘That’s still abuse,’ Jake said firmly.

‘That’s why she left him.’

Jake glanced toward the cottage again. ‘Do you know why the home was shut down?’

‘The church funding it ran out of money, or something.’

‘Do you know which church?’

‘St John Brothers, or the Brothers of St John … not sure. I just remember my mum being shocked when she heard that Ms O’Brien couldn’t pay the rent anymore. Then Dad kicked them all out.’

‘I see.’

‘I told you, he’s an arsehole.’ Max paused, looking thoughtful again. ‘I actually think he was using the cash to pay his bills. When it ran out that’s when this place started to go downhill.’

‘You mean he was relying on their rent to get by?’

‘He’s not rich. Never was.’

‘Even with an estate this size?’

‘This place has been in the family for six generations—seven, if you count me—but there’s no money in it. Dad was living off Mum’s income when she still lived here, pouring it all into the vineyard that never took off.’

‘You said your mother didn’t visit the home, but did your father?

‘Not that I know of. He considered them to be, well, beneath him. Kept saying it was a bad girls’ home. But they never caused any trouble that I know of.’ Max sighed. ‘Listening to his ramblings now, I think maybe he’s been playing out some fantasy from the Middle Ages in his head all these years … as if he’s the lord of the manor and the people in the cottage were his serfs or something.’

‘That’s not particularly healthy.’

Max grunted. ‘You could say that.’

‘Were there any other adults or children who visited the home?’

‘Liam O’Brien, of course. He mostly came to see Dad, but sometimes went over there afterwards to visit his sister.’

‘Anyone else?’

He shook his head.

‘I might go and take a look then,’ Jake said.

‘Sure. You have the key?’

Jake nodded, thanked Max and made his way around the hedge. The interior of the cottage was even colder than Jake’s own igloo. It consisted of a large central living room at one end, and at the other a series of similarly sized rooms branching off a long central corridor.

Empty for a decade, inch-thick dust coated every surface bar his footsteps, and presumably Kelly’s left over from securing the building yesterday. As he took photos of every wall, floor and surface, Jake wondered what it might have been like for Amelia growing up here. There were no clues in the peeling wallpaper or clouded windows.

Reasonably certain this was not the scene of any crime connected to Ava O’Brien’s death, Jake headed off to collect his constable for the next interview of the day.

*

With a mane of golden hair caught in a ponytail over one shoulder, glowing skin and an athletic frame, Charlotte Murphy was a picture of youth and vitality. She displayed no trace of the unusual personal appearance Amelia MacDonald revelled in.