Sarah was in the hall when she heard the familiar swish of the cat flap in the kitchen. For a second, she imagined another letter and she was instantly filled with dread. But Lewis was in custody. Could it be?

‘Sherlock!’ she exclaimed as she entered the kitchen. ‘I thought you were dead!’

As she checked him over, her cat arched his back responding with a loud miaow. ‘Have you been in the wars, me old Sher?’ Sarah cooed, as he allowed her to stroke him for once. His fur was matted and dirty and he had lost a little weight, but there was something about his swagger that took her by surprise. Curling his tail around her leg, he pushed his face against her jeans, happy to see her. Sarah stood in surprise as she watched this sudden display of affection. He’d always been so uptight before … She laughed as realisation dawned. ‘Were you out doing the deed? You dirty old dog. Is that what it was?’ Another loud miaow in response.

‘You do look kinda pleased with yourself.’ Sarah had never got around to getting Sherlock neutered. Perhaps that’s what was wrong with him all along.

Opening the cupboard, she took out Sherlock’s kibble and emptied some into a bowl.

‘And here was me thinking you hated me.’ She sniffed away happy tears as she stroked her cat. ‘You were just repressed.’ She filled a saucer of milk and lay it next to the food on the ground, feeling a sense of satisfaction as she watched him wolf it down. Tomorrow, she would give him a wash, but right now, she was glad of his company.

Sarah opened the fridge door and plopped a cooked chicken breast on top of Sherlock’s bowl. ‘Just for tonight,’ she whispered, as he arched his back in response to her touch. There was a sense of peace as her job, her past, her life all reached a resolution. There was just one more thing left to do.

58

Wednesday, 18th December 2019

Sarah stood, arms tightly folded as the demolition machinery trundled up to Blackhall Manor. Her breath was frosted and the tips of her fingers were growing numb. She wriggled her toes to keep the blood flowing. Here on the hilltop, you felt every ounce of the cold. At least the photographers and small band of press that had gathered were at the other end of the field. Some of them had braved the wind to capture the final chapter of the story which had haunted Slayton for decades. She did not see Gabby until she was almost standing beside her. Next to her was Jahmelia, in blue dungarees.

‘Hey, how are you, Jahmelia?’ She was the last person Sarah had expected to see.

‘She’s been having nightmares,’ Gabby replied, as Jahmelia eyed Sarah suspiciously. ‘I told her mum I’d take her out for some fresh air.’

‘And you brought her here?’ Sarah said quietly, frowning.