Suddenly I realise I’ve reached a turning point, because up until now, fear has had me in its grip, fear of what he would do to me. But now I know how to ruin Andrew and that knowledge gives me iron strength, armour through which his cruelty can no longer pierce. For years, I’ve felt imprisoned by him, but Hollie’s death is a reminder that life is too short to waste. Too much time has already passed. It’s time for Andrew to get everything he deserves.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jo

Back at home in Chichester, I let myself in, closing the door and standing there briefly, taking a deep breath and letting the day’s tension ebb away before going into the kitchen and putting the kettle on. The house is still too quiet, even though three months have passed since my marriage ended. Enough time for my wounds to start to heal, but only until I think about the end of my marriage again.

Making a cup of tea, I force myself to get my laptop. After taking it through to the small snug at the back of the house, I sink into one of the armchairs, sipping my tea while I wait for it to fire up before typing ‘Dylan Buckley 2016’ into the search bar. A few rows down, there’s a link to a press release. It’s only three lines, stating that his death was due to the overdose of a prescription drug.

Searching further, I find the date of his funeral, which was in the village, at the same church where Hollie’s was held. It occurs to me his grave must be there too – I make a mental note to search for it. Then I find an obituary page that’s been closed.

Realising it’s a long shot, I try Facebook, trawling through lists of people by the name of Dylan Buckley before I have a far better idea. There can’t be many Niamh Buckleys in the world. Typing in her name, I find I’m right. There are only two results and I recognise her face instantly.

When I bring up her page, it’s clear that Niamh keeps most of her posts private, but fortunately for me, not her friends list. I scroll down through them, and Hollie’s avatar comes up; then, near the bottom, Dylan’s. Clicking on it, I take a deep breath as I start reading. If Andrew Buckley knew what was here, I wouldn’t mind betting he’d be furious.

*

‘Sir, I had an interesting conversation with Andrew Buckley yesterday. It turns out that Hollie Hampton had a relationship with his son, Dylan.’

Even the DI looks taken aback. ‘I didn’t know there was a son. When was this?’

‘Two years ago. Apparently he killed himself when Hollie ended things between them.’

The DI looks up. ‘How come we didn’t know about this?’