‘She blamed me for everything.’ He doesn’t sound bitter, just resigned.

‘Did you tell her about Evelyn lending you money?’

‘Of course, but I don’t know if she believed me. Maybe she just didn’t want to think badly of Evelyn. She knew she shouldn’t have five grand to loan out.’

‘And you told the cops everything you’ve told me?’

‘Yep, but they didn’t give a shit. They had their suspect, they weren’t interested. They just wanted it all sorted so they could move on to something else. But as far as I’m concerned, the lazy fuckers only got half a killer. I loved my daughter, but she wasn’t perfect. She got a whole lot of cash from somewhere, and I think the same person paid Alex to hurt her.’

A woman starts talking in the background—a nurse asking him a question? He mutters a response.

Oli looks at her page of shorthand, her head spinning. ‘Thank you for speaking to me, Mr Stanley. Can we talk again?’

‘I’ll talk to you every bloody day if you can get the pigs to do their job,’ he says before abruptly hanging up.

Oli sits there feeling numb. If he’s telling the truth, then Evelyn must have been involved in something sinister. But what? No one else is likely to come forward if that involves a risk of being implicated in illegal activity.

First things first: if Oli can confirm Mitchell mentioned the money to the cops, it would show some consistency in his claims. Maybe Rusty can validate it for her. She quickly shoots a message to the number he called her from, asking that he doesn’t speak to anyone else in the media. Knocking back the last of her cold coffee, she tries to stitch all the disparate pieces of information together in her mind.

She stands up to go just as Bowman steps into her line of sight outside the cafe. The coffee cup rattles across the table as she pushes her chair back and bolts toward him. ‘Chief Inspector!’

He freezes. Turns. Scans her up and down. He says something to the man in the suit next to him before ambling over, his expression impossible to read. His blue eyes are watery, his papery skin riddled with sunspots and broken veins.

She musters some confidence. ‘I want to talk to you about the Housemate case.’

‘Tell me, Ms Groves, how are the twins?’

‘Oh.’ Oli is completely thrown, anxiety rolling across her body. ‘They’re fine, thank you.’

He nods. Digs his hands into his pockets. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

Still nervous, she says, ‘I want to include some quotes from you in a feature I’m writing.’

Bowman says curtly, ‘You ran with the child story.’

‘I did.’ She lifts her chin, trying to convey a bravery she doesn’t feel.