‘Ms O’Brien took an annual holiday?’

Charlotte nodded.

‘Did you go with her or did someone come in to look after you?’

‘Her brother, Mr O’Brien, looked after us when she went away.’

Mr O’Brien had failed to mention that yesterday. Though given that his sister had just died, that might be a reasonable oversight. ‘And was he any different to Ms O’Brien?’

‘Yeah, he wasn’t strict at all. He didn’t make us study or eat healthy food, just let us eat fish fingers and mashed potato and lollies and do whatever we wanted. Ms O’Brien used to be very upset with him when she got back from her trips.’

‘But he treated you well?’

‘Sure. I mean, we were hungry sometimes because he didn’t always remember to feed us, but when we reminded him he’d make up for it.’

‘And did anyone else come into the home while he was there?’

‘He was the same as Ms O’Brien about keeping us in and everyone else away. We only got to go out when we were buying new clothes.’

‘What about Mr Campbell who lived on the other side of the hedge? Other children? Prospective adopters?’

She shrugged. ‘No one.’

‘The older girls who had been adopted—did any of them visit?’

‘Ms O’Brien said their new parents probably wouldn’t let them.’

A nurse approached. ‘Detective? You can come back in now.’

Jake rose and walked along the corridor to Amelia’s cubicle where Mary MacDonald was dampening cotton wool balls with lotion and wiping make-up from her daughter’s face. ‘Now that she’s quiet, I can clean her up a bit.’ She stopped every few motions to smooth Amelia’s hair back from her forehead.

‘We’ve worked so hard for the last ten years, Mr Hunter. So hard. Amelia has, I have, Andrew has, and God help him, even Scott has. But we never seem to get anywhere.’ Her voice broke. ‘Everything will seem fine for a few months, then bam, we’re right back here.’

‘Andrew just mentioned he thinks there might be some connection between Amelia harming herself and strawberries,’ Jake said as gently as he could.

Tears began to tumble down Mary’s cheeks again. She seemed unaware of them. ‘I know, but it doesn’t make any sense. She eats them sometimes, if I put them in smoothies or cakes and she has no reaction at all.’

Amelia hadn’t actually eaten any of the cake this morning, Jake recalled.

‘Does she know they’re in the food, when she doesn’t seem to have a reaction?’

Mary looked at him in puzzlement.

‘Detective?’ Amelia’s doctor had returned. ‘Can I speak to you?’

Jake smiled tightly at Mary MacDonald, then followed the doctor to a private corner near the nurses’ station.

‘In addition to the damage Amelia’s done to her fingers and toes, we discovered multiple lacerations to her inner thighs.’

Sweet Jesus. A corner of Jake’s mind always recoiled from the knowledge that someone could be in such distress they would rend their own flesh in desperation for comfort or relief.