As she drove along, it occurred to her that the Molloys would probably have tried to call Dale to warn him that she’d escaped. But she was certain he wouldn’t have his own phone on him as that would potentially place him at the murder scene; and that was the whole reason he was bringing her phone with him – in order to frame her by placing her at the scene instead. But would the Molloys think to call him on her phone? Were they even aware that he’d taken it? At least if they did manage to get through to him, then it might deter him from killing Frank.

The thoughts churned furiously through her mind as she sped through the streets. She wouldn’t know for sure until she got there and the tension knotting her guts right now was unbearable.

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, she saw that it was quarter past nine. She tried to work out what time Dale would have left the restaurant and if he would be at Frank’s house yet. There was always the possibility he’d taken some sort of detour first – perhaps to prepare himself for the murder. She could only hope. Any extra minute was vital.

Getting to Frank’s part of Enfield, she wrested the car violently through the tranquil suburban streets, the Range Rover skidding to a halt in the small cul-de-sac where his house was.

But she instantly saw that something wasn’t right. The cul-de-sac was eerily quiet. Where were the police cars? Where were the blue lights? Why weren’t they here? Surely they should have responded by now.

Immediately focusing her gaze on Frank’s small semi-detached house, she noticed the dark metallic Tesla parked up on the pavement right outside.

Dale was here.

‘Oh God,’ she gasped.

She was too late. Or was she?

The neighbourhood appeared sleepy and subdued. A few lights on behind the net curtains. A picture of normality. It didn’t seem like a shooting had taken place. Yet. Was there still time to stop him?

But where the hell were the police? She needed them now. Right now.

She looked around wildly, breathing hard.

Then she noticed the street sign.

Knowsley Place.

A nauseous heave of realisation struck her. She’d given the 999 operator the wrong street name. She remembered now how it had always been a bit confusing coming here in the past because there were at least three streets in the area with Knowsley in the name – Knowsley Place, Knowsley Crescent and Knowsley Close. With all that was on her mind right now, she’d gone and mixed up the names… an innocent mistake with potentially fatal consequences.

The police would have gone to Knowsley Close a few streets away, found that nothing was wrong and written it off as a hoax call.

Oh fuck indeed.

What had she done? How could she have screwed up so badly?

Bailey blinked in horror. Had her error cost Frank and his daughter their lives? She’d never be able to forgive herself.