‘Well, Kate, I’ll be here for you for as long as you want me. The same for Lizzy, God love her. I could cheerfully cut the legs from her, but I’ll always love her. Mary Ann that she is.’

Doctor Plumfield surveyed Kate and Evelyn as they sat in front of him. Kate had asked for another day of leave to try and get her family affairs sorted out. It had been granted grudgingly and she knew she was on thin ice as far as her superiors were concerned. Sympathetic they may be, but at the end of the day she was a DI and should put her work first. Particularly a murder investigation.

Lizzy’s attempted suicide had been whispered around the station by now, she was sure.

Plumfield was young, and Kate thought he looked more like a social worker than a psychiatrist. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a rugby shirt. His hair was thinning on top but he had a small ponytail at the back. His fingers were tobacco-stained as he fiddled with a biro.

He sat back in his chair and sighed. Kate felt like a little girl who has been caught cheating in her exams.

‘Your daughter, Mrs Burrows, is a very confused and unhappy girl.’

She listened attentively, all the while thinking, Tell me something I don’t know.

Plumfield continued talking in a nasal voice and she decided that he must be a demon to live with. He did not address people as equals but spoke down to them.

‘Lizzy has manifested signs of severe depression, and I feel that her drug taking and other behavioural patterns need close attention. To a child, Mrs Burrows, a slap is as good as a cuddle. After all, they are both forms of attention.’

‘So you think that Lizzy needs more attention?’

Plumfield held up his hand. ‘I am still talking, Mrs Burrows.’

Kate rolled her eyes to the ceiling. This man just could not be real!

‘I can see you are used to being in charge.’ He pointed a finger at her. ‘You are not at the station now.’

He smiled to take the edge off his words and suddenly it hit Kate: he was a Bill hater. Kate had come across them all her working life, from the solicitors who tried to get off known offenders to the social workers who stood up in courts of law and gave character references for people who should have been locked up once and for all.

He was going to lay all the blame at her door.

Kate bit her lip and let the man speak.

‘Your daughter -’ this was said like an accusation - ‘has agreed to go into a psychiatric hospital for a while, where we can assess her properly. She will travel there later this afternoon from here. She’ll be in Warley Hospital.’

Evelyn watched his loose-lipped face and felt her mettle rise. ‘Excuse me, Doctor Plumtree . . .’

‘It’s Plumfield.’