‘Cut the crap and let’s just get on with it, shall we? I’ve asked you here to tell you the truth, but I’m not saying nothing in front of her,’ Frankie spat, nodding in the direction of the screw standing by the door.

‘Could you leave Miss Mitchell and myself alone, please?’ Blyth asked the prison officer politely.

‘I was told to stay inside the room,’ the officer replied.

Blyth stood up. While Frankie was in this mood there was much more chance of getting the absolute truth out of her and she wasn’t going to allow some jumped-up screw mess that up.

‘Just get out! I’m a detective inspector and I need to speak to Miss Mitchell alone,’ she screamed.

As the prison officer scuttled out of the room, Blyth turned to Frankie. Every police officer in the country had their own way of dealing with situations like this and Blyth had always found that if you behaved in the same manner as whoever you were dealing with, it worked wonders.

‘I haven’t got all day, so spit it out,’ she said abruptly.

‘Where do you want me to start?’ Frankie asked.

‘Why don’t we start by you telling me why you kept calling Jed a traitor when I last interviewed you and, while we’re at it, what was the big secret that you couldn’t disclose for the sake of your dad and children?’ Blyth asked in a sharp tone.

Shocked by Blyth’s manner, Frankie felt her lip begin to tremble. Perhaps the DI still had the hump with her because she hadn’t grassed her father up in court when he was up for murdering her mother.

Noticing that Frankie’s hands were shaking, Blyth leaned forward and clasped her own around them. ‘Tell me Frankie, please tell me,’ she pleaded in a much gentler tone.

Frankie looked up. The hard exterior she’d used as a front for the past few days suddenly evaporated into thin air. ‘If I tell you, I want you to promise me that you’ll never tell my dad.’

‘I promise,’ Blyth said sincerely. She suddenly had an awful feeling that Frankie was about to tell her that Jed had sexually abused Georgie. ‘Is it Georgie? Did Jed touch her?’ Blyth asked softly.

‘No, it’s my grandad.’

‘What do you mean, Frankie? What has your grandad got to do with all this? You are talking about your grandad Harry, aren’t you?’

With tears streaming down her face, Frankie nodded. ‘It was Jed, he was the one that killed my grandad Harry.’