Patrick takes one step towards Chloe. She inches back. Two fields away, she hears the hum of traffic from the dual carriageway. Too far to run. Closer, she hears the rustle of the sugar beet leaves in the fields that surround them, and then her voice as she calls across the asphalt to him: ‘I’ve known for a long time that you did it. I just didn’t know how I knew for sure . . . but seeing that just then, how easily you—’

‘Chloe, it’s a fucking hare.’

Chloe is silent. It’s not just the hare.

On the road, Patrick clasps his hands together. He shakes his head as if he cannot believe what she is saying. Then he rests his forehead in his hands.

He tries again, stepping forward, but Chloe moves back.

‘It’s a fucking animal, Chloe. There’s a big fucking difference between an animal and . . . and . . .’

‘It’s not just that, though, is it?’ she says. ‘It’s everything. You told me yourself you weren’t at the swings the day Angie disappeared. So why would you have people looking there? The whole investigation was based on that play park . . .’ As she says this she spreads her arms wide, as if the police had been combing this very field.

Patrick stops, as if the thought has suddenly hit him. He looks up to the sky and then puts his head into his hands.

‘Chloe, I . . . look.’ He pauses, staggering around. ‘Would you get a hold of yourself.’

But she won’t give up. She’s come this far.

‘All these years you’ve let Maureen think that Angie was taken from that park. All these years. And yet you were hiding the biggest secret of all, from everyone.’

‘Chloe, it’s not what you thi—’

‘Why else would you let Maureen think that I was Angie unless you didn’t want her to know what had happened to her? What you had done to her?’

He takes another step forward. ‘I think you’ve got your wires cr—’

‘Don’t move,’ she shouts. He stops suddenly, and he must see it then, the terror in her eyes. Her absolute fear of him.

‘Don’t take another step closer,’ Chloe says. ‘You killed your daughter and now what? You’re going to kill me?’