‘Joanne. I know it’s hard for you, not being the centre of attention. I know you’re only dying to throw a tantrum and scream, “Everybody look at me!” But I bet if you try your very best, you can hang on for just a few more minutes. And when we’re done here, your friends can explain to you why this was important. OK?’

Joanne’s face was pure poison. She looked forty.

‘Can you manage that for me?’

Joanne thumped back in her chair, rolled her eyes. ‘Whatever.’

‘Good girl.’

The circle of arena eyes, appreciative: we had a winner. Julia and Holly were both grinning. Alison looked terrified and over the moon.

‘Now,’ Conway said, turning back to the rest of them – Joanne was dismissed, done. ‘You; whoever you are. I know you enjoyed that, but fact is, you’ve got the same problem. You’re not taking the killer seriously. Maybe because you don’t actually know who it is, so he or she doesn’t feel real. Maybe because you do know who it is, and he or she doesn’t look all that dangerous.’

Joanne was staring at the wall, arms twisted into a knot of sulk. The rest of the girls were all Conway’s. She had done it: come up to the mark for them.

She held up the photo in a slash of sun, Chris laughing and radiant. ‘Probably Chris thought the same thing. I’ve seen a lot of people who didn’t take killers seriously. Mostly I saw them at their post-mortems.’

Her voice was steady and grave again. When she stopped, no one breathed. The breeze through the open window rattled the blinds.

‘Me and Detective Moran, we’re going to get some lunch. After that, we’ll be in the boarders’ wing for an hour or two.’ That got a reaction. Elbows shifting on desks, spines snapping straight. ‘Then we’ve got other places to be. What I’m telling you is, you’ve got maybe three hours left where you’re safe. The killer’s not gonna come after you while we’re on the grounds. Once we leave . . .’

Silence. Orla’s mouth was hanging open.

‘If you’ve got something to tell us, you can come find us any time this afternoon. Or if you’re worried someone’ll notice you going, you can ring us, even text us. You’ve all got our cards.’

Conway’s eyes moving across the faces, coming down on each one like a stamp.

‘You, who I’ve been talking to: this is your chance. Grab it. And until you have, you look after yourself.’

She tucked the photo back into her jacket pocket; tugged down her jacket, checked to make sure the line fell just right. ‘See you soon,’ she said.

And walked out of the door, not looking back. She didn’t give me any heads-up, but I was right behind her all the same.