‘Does this look familiar?’ Fisher asked.

She crossed the room, then stood, shocked. A single bed had been dragged towards the wall and dressed with crisp new white sheets. One area of the wall had been covered with soft green wallpaper. There was a bar fridge – God knew where from – and on it stood a menu for room service. On the menu was printed, High Holborn, London. She was looking at a set.

‘My God,’ she said. ‘It looks like a hotel room.’

‘I think that’s the point. Is this where he Skyped you and Mia from?’

She tried to answer but the words caught in her throat. She had started to come to terms with the fact John lied to her about his trip to London, but seeing their daughter’s room set up like a TV set made the lie something more sinister. This was premeditated. Deliberate. Antagonistic. Like an animal sensing a predator, she had the sudden urge to run. In that moment, she wanted to sell the house and never go back. The buyer could keep the furniture, kitchenware, linen, swimsuits, toys and the fucking High Holborn hotel room – or they could burn it all.

‘I’m not sure what scares me most,’ she said. ‘The fact John snuck off to this place, or the fact he’s left in such a hurry. There are unpacked groceries in the kitchen and food in the microwave. Something bad has happened, Fisher.’

Fisher’s phone rang. He whipped it out gunslinger-fast and slapped it against his ear.

‘Yes, hello, this is Fisher Keddie … Hello?’

‘Who is it?’ Kate asked.

He strained to listen, then shook his head. ‘I don’t know. The reception’s terrible in here.’

‘It’s better on the back deck.’

He nodded, then hurried out of the room. Kate moved to follow him, but paused at the small window that looked out over the front yard. There was a tall old beech tree just outside the glass that Mia had inexplicably named Simon. Usually all you could see was its canopy, but its leaves had dropped for winter, and now Kate could see through its skeletal branches all the way down the street.

There was a mud-splattered work truck parked near the corner of Milt Street. Maintenance was printed down one side. She couldn’t make out the driver, but she had the feeling they were watching the house. Fisher was pacing loudly in the hallway, speaking in urgent tones. Kate glanced in his direction. When she turned back to the window, the work truck pulled off the shoulder, did a U-turn and disappeared over the crest of a hill.

When Fisher came back into the room, he had turned pale.

‘What is it?’ Kate asked.

‘That was the Belport Police.’

‘… Yes?’

‘They…’

‘What is it, Fisher?’

‘They want us to meet them at Belport Medical right away,’ he said, wrestling against each word as it left his mouth.