“What do you mean?”

“The number of blows, the position of the victim, the violence of the blows.”

Janet turned red. “Victim! Is that what you call the bastard? Victim. When Dennis was lying there on the floor with his lifeblood pumping away, you call Terence Payne a victim. How dare you?”

“I’m sorry, Janet, but that’s the way a case would be presented in court, and you’d better get used to the idea.”

Janet said nothing.

“Why did you say what you did to the ambulance attendant?”

“What did I say?”

“ ‘Is he dead? Did I kill the bastard?’ What did you mean by that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even remember saying it.”

“It could be construed as meaning you set out to kill him, do you see?”

“I suppose it could be twisted that way, yes.”

“Did you, Janet? Did you intend to kill Terence Payne?”

“No! I told you. I was just trying to save my life. Why can’t you believe me?”

“What about the blows to the back of his head? When might those have occurred in the sequence of events?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try harder. You can do better than that.”

“Maybe when he was bent over reaching for his machete.”

“Okay. But you don’t remember delivering them?”

“No, but I suppose I must have done if you say so.”

“What about those two blows to the top of his head? Dr. Mackenzie tells me they were delivered with a lot of force. They weren’t just random hits.”

Janet shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Annie leaned forward and held Janet’s chin between thumb and forefinger, looking into her blurry, scared eyes. “Listen to me, Janet. Terence Payne was taller than you. By the angle and force of those blows, the only way they could have been delivered was if he was sitting and the attacker had plenty of time to take a huge, uninterrupted downward swing and… well, you get the picture. Come on, Janet. Talk to me. Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you.”

Janet twisted her chin from Annie’s grip and looked away. “What do you want me to say? I’d only get myself deeper in trouble.”

“Not true. You’ll get nowhere if you’re perceived as lying or covering up your actions. That’ll only lead to perjury. The truth’s your best defense. Do you think there’s a person on that jury – if that’s what it comes to – who won’t sympathize with your predicament, even if you did admit to losing it for a few moments? Give yourself a break here, Janet.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell the truth. Was that how it happened? Was he down and you just lost your temper, gave him one for Dennis. And, crack, there’s another? Is that how it happened?”

Janet jumped up and began pacing, wringing her hands. “So what if I did give him one or two for Dennis? It was nothing less than he deserved.”

“That’s what you did? You remember now?”

Janet stopped and narrowed her eyes, then she poured herself two fingers of gin and knocked it back. “Not clearly, no, but if you’re telling me that’s how it happened, I can hardly deny it, can I? Not in the face of the pathologist’s evidence.”

“Pathologists can be wrong,” Annie said, though not, she thought, about the number, strength and angle of the blows.

“But who will they believe in court?”

“I’ve told you. If it comes to that you’ll get a lot of sympathy. But it might not come to court.”

Janet sat down again, perched at the edge of the armchair. “What do you mean?”

“It’s up to the CPS. I’ll be meeting with them on Monday. In the meantime, if you want to alter your statement at all before then, now’s the time to do it.”

“It’s no good,” said Janet, holding her head in her hands and weeping. “I don’t remember it clearly. It all seemed to happen so fast, it was over before I knew what was happening, and Dennis… Dennis was dead, bleeding on my lap. That went on forever, me telling him to hang on, trying to stanch the blood.” She looked at her hands as if seeing the same thing Lady Macbeth saw, what she couldn’t wash away. “But he wouldn’t stop bleeding. I couldn’t stop it from coming out. Maybe it happened as you said. Maybe that’s the only way it could have happened. All I remember is the fear, the adrenaline, the…”

“The anger, Janet? Is that what you were going to say?”

Janet shot her a defiant glance. “What if I was? Wasn’t I right to feel anger?”

“I’m not here to judge you. I think I’d have been angry myself, maybe done exactly the same as you. But we’ve got to get this sorted. There’s no way it’ll simply disappear. As I say, the CPS might decide not to press charges. At the worst you’d be looking at excusable homicide, maybe even justifiable. We’re not talking jail time here, Janet. Thing is, though, we can’t hide it, and it won’t go away. There’s got to be some action.” Annie spoke softly and clearly, as if to a frightened child.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Janet said. “It’s like I’m some sort of sacrificial lamb tossed to the slaughter to appease public opinion.”

“Not at all.” Annie stood up. “Public opinion is far more likely to be on your side. It’s just procedure that has to be followed. Look, if you want to get in touch with me about anything, anything at all before Monday, here’s my card.” She wrote her home and mobile numbers on the back.

“Thanks.” Janet took the card, glanced at it and set it on the coffee table.

“You know,” Annie said at the door, “I’m not your enemy, Janet. Yes, I’d have to give evidence if it came to court, but I’m not against you.”

Janet gave her a twisted smile. “Yeah, I know,” she said, reaching for the gin again. “Life’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” Annie smiled back. “Then you die.”

“Claire! It’s so nice to see you again. Come in.”

Claire Toth walked into Maggie’s hall and followed her through to the front room, where she slouched on the sofa.

The first things Maggie noticed about her were how pale she was and that she had cut off all her beautiful long blond hair. What was left lay jaggedly over her skull in such a manner as to suggest that she had cut it herself. She wasn’t wearing her school uniform but a pair of baggy jeans and a baggy sweatshirt that hid all signs that she was an attractive young woman. She wore no makeup, and her face was dotted with acne. Maggie remembered what Dr. Simms had said about the possible reactions of Kimberley’s close friends, that some might suppress their sexuality because they thought that would protect them from predators such as Terence Payne. It looked as if Claire was trying to do just that. Maggie wondered if she should comment, but decided not to.

“Milk and cookies?” she asked.

Claire shook her head.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Maggie asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” said Claire. “I can’t sleep. I just keep thinking of her. I just lie awake all night with it going through my head – what must have happened to her, what she must have felt like… I can’t bear it. It’s awful.”

“What do your parents say?”

Claire looked away. “I can’t talk to them. I… I thought, you know, you might understand better.”

“Let me get those cookies, anyway. I could do with one myself.” Maggie fetched two glasses of milk and a plate of chocolate chip cookies from the kitchen and put them down on the coffee table. Claire picked up her milk and sipped at it, then reached out and picked up a cookie.

“You read about me in the papers, then?” Maggie said.

Claire nodded.

“And what did you think?”

“At first I couldn’t believe it. Not you. Then I realized it could be anybody, that you didn’t have to be poor or stupid to be abused. Then I felt sorry for you.”

“Well, please don’t do that,” said Maggie, trying on a smile. “I stopped feeling sorry for myself a long time ago, and now I’m just getting on with life. All right?”