I hated him, and while I wanted to be asleep, I speculated insanely. Could Caleb have been forced to do this? By whom? Why? How? What could he be blackmailed about? Not sex or drugs. No one cared about that stuff. Not anymore. Something to do with Stephen? ‘Could clients of yours want to hurt him like this?’

‘You’re clutching at straws. Phoebe, be reasonable. I have uncovered one lead to pursue. Apparently, as a child, John Zynda was involved in an incident with matches…’

What? When exactly had he planned on sharing this?

‘Phoebe, you need to stop calling. It’s only 6 am. I need sleep. We can’t do anything else until morning.’

More than one person could talk to Sadie Riley. I was desperate. I’d take a chance. The newspaper receptionist sounded tired, which wasn’t my fault. It was nearly 7 am, and he – clearly – was paid to work nightshift. He heard my name and transferred me, presumably to Sadie’s mobile.

‘Hello, Phoebe.’ Sadie drew my name out in emotions varying from scepticism to hope.

I’d chased her from my house, more than once. But I was Caleb’s mother. ‘I need to tell you what I’ve discovered.’

‘Is this on the record?’

‘Yes. I’ve been researching arsonists. Psychologists suggest lots of reasons. Fake insurance claims. Paedophiles destroying evidence. People with grudges.’ I considered convincing her of my research credentials by sharing a story about a team that, centuries after Pliny fled Pompeii, discovered erotic drawings and worked out where brothels had been, which services offered. I managed to stop myself. Sadie didn’t need to think I was hysterical. ‘Evidence against Caleb has been pretty well planned. Someone’s put real effort into that.’

‘You think he’s being framed?’

‘I think a lot of politicians would prefer people to think about arsonists than about what they’re not doing.’

‘I need a unique angle, and my editor doesn’t want stories complaining about ministers or climate change. Says they’re too political.’

‘If someone lit fires, then that’s still a story, whether or not climate change is real. Have you heard of John Zynda?’

‘I’ll check my notes.’

‘John’s a firebug.’

‘Right.’

‘He likes lighting fires. He’s done it before. The investigators should be checking up on him. They’re incompetent. Maybe even corrupt.’

On the other end of the line, I heard the click of a cigarette lighter. Sadie was smoking. Hopefully this meant she was thinking, taking this seriously.

‘You’re making a lot of allegations. Do you have any evidence?’

‘He has a history of lighting fires. He should have a criminal record.’

‘You mean he doesn’t? I’m confused. You say there’s evidence, but no criminal record. How can that be?’