Grace opened her mouth, grappling for words, her eyes full of hurt. ‘He told you that?’

‘He tells me everything. I know all about you attacking Cora. You’re still capable of violence, aren’t you? And look at poor Nick.’

‘What about Nick? He never knew what happened with Douglas. Did you say something when you met him?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘No, it’s none of my business. But perhaps you should have come clean. Secrets have a habit of coming out.’

The doorbell rang, long and loud, and they both went still.

‘Are you expecting someone?’ Anna asked.

‘No.’ Grace grabbed Toffee’s collar and pressed her fingers on his muzzle, silencing him. ‘It’ll be a delivery.’

‘Wait. Don’t answer it until we know who it is.’ Anna ran into the front room and peeked between the slats of the wooden shutters.

‘Anna?’ Grace stood in the doorway, looking uncertain.

‘It’s the police,’ she whispered.

‘It’ll be about Angus Moody. I’m letting them in.’

‘Angus?’ Anna frowned. What the hell had Angus got to do with any of this? ‘No, don’t. Leave it.’ The sound of her blood ringing in her ears was deafening. ‘Why would they want to talk to you about Angus?’

‘Haven’t you seen the papers today?’

‘No, I’ve been too busy clearing the house.’

‘He’s been arrested for fraud. I think it might be connected with what happened to Nick. Let me open the door.’

‘No. Not yet. We need to talk first.’

‘For God’s sake.’ But she didn’t move.

Grace’s mobile phone started to ring, and Anna shook her head. They waited for it to stop, then Grace listened to Marsh’s voicemail. Afterwards, she put it on speaker and played it again, the phone on her knee between them. She held Anna’s gaze.

‘Grace. It’s DI Marsh. Call me back soon as you get this. Just one thing, if Anna Foreman comes round don’t let her in. Call me immediately.’

Grace’s expression became wary. ‘I want you to leave.’

GRACE

Friday, 15 June 2018

I EXPECT ANNA TO GO ON THE OFFENSIVE, BUT INSTEAD she crumples. Toffee watches us, perfectly still, his ears pricked, as if he senses an impending catastrophe.

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Anna says, her eyes filling with tears.

‘What wasn’t your fault?’

She sways, and I’m so worried that she’s about to either faint or have a panic attack that I pull her down on to the sofa. She doesn’t seem dangerous. The opposite, in fact. She seems fragile; as if she’ll break into a thousand pieces if I don’t hold her together.

‘Nick came round. Douglas let him in, and they got into a fight.’