‘Wasn’t your job?’ Silas can’t help himself, despite Strover throwing another look of disapproval at him. ‘You were acting completely illegally. Putting yourself in grave danger.’

‘I didn’t think it would do any harm,’ Kate says. ‘I just sat at the bar, watched who came in and out, that’s all. I’d overheard you talking about the place, that it might be a drugs pub.’

‘How often did you visit?’ he asks, more calmly now. Kate was always impulsive, never a great respecter of rules.

‘Twice, maybe three times, I can’t remember.’

‘You should have told us.’

He’d suspected that she’d stopped to have a drink somewhere, given the alcohol found in her blood, but they’d never established where. There are a lot of pubs between Swindon and the canal. He can’t be too hard on her. She nearly died, spent months in recovery.

‘I didn’t recognise anyone,’ she adds.

But someone recognised her. Silas watches as Strover produces an A4 photo from the folder and slides it onto the table.

‘You didn’t recognise this man, then?’ Strover says. ‘The barman who served you a drink that night?’

Kate picks up the photo, the blood draining from her face. Silas leans forward, watching her intently.

‘You OK?’ Strover asks, resting a hand on Kate’s forearm.

‘What is it?’ Silas asks. Something’s very wrong. ‘Do you recognise him?’

Kate puts the photo down on the table.

‘I do now.’

‘You do?’ Silas glances at Strover, who looks equally surprised. Neither of them was expecting this. Does Kate remember him from the modern slavery investigation?

‘How do you know him?’ he asks as Strover pulls out her notepad.

‘Because he’s in the village,’ she says, her eyes moistening. ‘And I think he spiked my coffee yesterday.’

31

Jake

Jake looks for the key under the flowerpot at the back of Bex’s house. It’s a small thatched estate cottage, on the edge of the village. He’s been there many times with Kate, particularly in the early days, before the book deals dried up and Bex started to give him a hard time for not earning more money.

A black cat comes up to him, rubbing against his legs. He doesn’t remember Bex having one. He leans down to stroke it, more shaken than he realises by the events of the past twelve hours.