‘Blood on the guardrail. A series of shoe impressions on the dangerous side of the barrier. Some scuff marks near the edge of the cliff. Several different sets of shoe impressions on the safe side of the rail. Paw prints. Lots of people go up there. Nothing to tell us conclusively what happened to Jack.’

‘What about his house?’

‘We took a look there too. Got the spare key from the real estate agent. No sign he’s been home. No blood anywhere. You said he was bleeding when you left him.’

‘Bleeding badly,’ I said, then changed the subject. ‘Phone records? He might have called someone to come help him.’

‘On it,’ said Wozza. I could hear his keyboard clicking. ‘Did you make any calls after it happened?’

‘I called a friend in town while I was waiting in the car park for Jack to come out of the trees. I’ll check the time on my phone when I get home. Bit hard while I’m driving.’

‘Right-o,’ said Wozza. ‘Talk later.’ And he was gone.

When Wozza hung up, I was left with a long drive home to ponder the attack on Noah Shepherd. While it was a tragedy for his parents, it was the opposite for all the women who would remain unmolested by him.

I reckon Gemma would have thought so if she had lived. In our last conversation, she had wished he was dead. I’ll never forget how her emotions coiled and whirled inside her when she arrived at the police station that last time. She was so angry and so … powerless. She was caught in the juggernaut that began with her reporting a sexual assault and ended with being sued by Noah Shepherd for trying to ruin his good name. Stuck in the middle with no way out.

It was such bullshit, she told me with tears running down her cheeks, because his good name had barely been sullied by the court case. Nothing changed for him. He still got the great job when he graduated. The media championed him not her, mentioned his achievements in every article, and little by little the story-weavers made the victim into the villain. She was the liar. The accuser. Each news article took a step further away from the truth. According to the newspapers, she led him outside; she knew what she wanted. On social media she became the prickteaser. The ugly slut. Die, bitch. Keyboard judges, juries and executioners.

And they didn’t stop till she was beyond hurting.