‘Ah, well, none of these things, either in themselves, or collectively, is conclusive. But they do raise the question. Forensics might provide a clearer insight when we get their report back from the lab.’

Bannerman tried to sort it all out in his mind through a haze of pain and fatigue. None of it seemed to make sense. ‘What about the child? Tania.’

Du Maurier pulled thoughtfully at the whiskers growing from his nostrils and stared into the darkness beyond the ring of light from the Anglepoise. In the silence both men heard the soft slapping of sleet against the window. At length the policeman turned his gaze on Bannerman, and Bannerman wondered at his openness. ‘The child was only brought under control finally by the use of sedatives. We brought in her carer . . . a young woman who normally looks after her.’

‘Sally.’

‘Yes. And one of the teachers from the child’s school. We tried to question her, but as you might imagine it was hopeless. She was sufficiently drugged to keep her calm, but she was completely withdrawn. Absolutely no communication. And none likely, we’re told. We provided her with a pencil and pad in the hope that she might be able to write something, anything. But she refused even to take the pencil.’

He stopped and fumbled for another cigarette.

‘We left her alone in the room for, I would say, no more than half an hour while we had a brief conference. That was late this afternoon. We discussed the case with the police psychiatrist. He told us there was no hope of ever learning from the girl what had happened. In fact he suspected that the trauma of whatever she saw could well have done irreparable damage. Set her back years. It was decided that in the meantime she should be taken to a residential psychiatric hospital for children on the outskirts of the city, at least until her future is decided. Her teacher went back to fetch her and interrupted the child in the middle of this . . .’ He opened the folder in front of him and slid a sheet of paper across the desk towards Bannerman.