‘Bitterness, revenge? Your guess is as good as mine. The guy walked out on her, don’t forget, and fleeced her in the process.’

‘Years ago,’ Nina said. ‘Do you really think she’d risk everything she’s got now, a home, a fiancé, a future, just to get her own back? It seems pretty extreme.’

Gerald’s gaze floated back towards the TV for a moment. He stared at the screen, but all he was really seeing was Sadie Wise sitting in the interview room. Her face might have been battered and bruised, but her eyes were full of grim determination. ‘So perhaps there was another motive, something we don’t know about.’

‘Like what?’

But Gerald was at a loss. All his instincts told him that Sadie was lying, that he couldn’t believe a word that came out of her mouth, but proving her guilt was a different matter entirely. It always got under his skin when he had a case with loose ends, and this one was virtually unravelling at the edges. There were too many unanswered questions, too much left up in the air.

The only part of the investigation that he’d had any real control over was the murder of Peter Royston and, other than the fact that she’d been at the right place at the right time, there was no solid evidence that Sadie had actually colluded in the killing. Witnesses had come forward to confirm that she’d been standing by the Big Wheel for over fifteen minutes, that she’d gone nowhere near the back of the fairground and that she’d left alone after the police and ambulance arrived.

Gerald looked at his wife again. ‘And Mona Farrell being knocked over. You don’t think that’s a touch coincidental? The one person who could have filled in the gaps and suddenly she’s dead.’

‘You think it was deliberate?’

Gerald briefly dropped his gaze, staring down at the papers as if by a sheer effort of will he might be able to read between the lines. He looked up again and shrugged. ‘Let’s just say it was convenient for Sadie.’

‘So they haven’t found the driver yet, the person who did it?’

‘It’s still under investigation.’

Nina yawned, lifting her fingers to cover her mouth. ‘So what now?’ she asked. ‘What are you going to do?’

Gerald shook his head. The more he thought about the case, the more his temples ached. ‘What can I do?’ It seemed to him that the end of the story was as shrouded in mystery as the beginning: Sadie’s trip to London, the mugging, the hit-and-run. Nothing was clear. It was all smoke and mirrors. ‘Unless some new evidence comes to light, the case is closed.’

‘And can you live with that?’

Gerald gave her a wry smile. ‘I’m going to have to, aren’t I?’ He allowed himself one last glance at the page, his eyes quickly scanning the list of items found in Mona’s bedroom in Hampstead. It included a Liberty silk scarf and a paperback copy of a novel called Strangers on a Train. He shook his aching head. No, there was nothing to help there. He closed the file and placed it neatly on the table beside him.

Petra Gissing stood at the sink, gazing out at the back yard. Her arms were wrist-deep in the bowl, but she’d forgotten all about the washing up she was supposed to be doing. Sometimes, without any warning, it all came back to her – the girl appearing out of nowhere, the screech of brakes, the dull thud as Mona Farrell’s body hit the car – and suddenly she was back on Station Road with the panic coursing through her veins again.

She swallowed hard, her jaw clenching. But it hadn’t been her fault. Already she had dismissed the version where her eyes were on Sadie Wise instead of the road, where she didn’t even bother to look before she put her foot on the accelerator. No, that wasn’t how it had happened. The girl had run straight out in front of her. It had been a done deal. There hadn’t been a chance of her stopping in time.

Anyway, there were rumours flying round that Mona Farrell had been sick in the head and that she was the one who’d killed Eddie. It wasn’t public knowledge yet – her family were rich and influential and busy trying to sweep it all under the carpet – but if it was true, then surely Petra had done the world a favour. One less nutter on the streets had to be a good thing.

Wayne came in through the back door, interrupting her thoughts. He brought with him a gust of chill winter air and the attitude of a sulky schoolboy.

‘Don’t start,’ she said.

He stamped his wet boots on the mat and glared at her. ‘I didn’t say nothin’.’

‘You don’t need to. Just get over it, huh? It’s been weeks now and you’ve still got the bloody hump. You can’t change what’s done so just grow up and deal with it.’

‘Yeah, right,’ he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. ‘Twenty fuckin’ grand you cost me. Do you know what I could have done with that?’

Petra raised her eyes to the ceiling – she’d heard it all before – and let her breath hiss out through her teeth. ‘Frittered it away on beer and fags, probably. Jesus, you should be thanking me, not having a go.’

‘And how do you figure that out?’

‘Because if it wasn’t for me, you’d be six foot under by now. Do you really think Nathan Stone was going to pay up? Well, I’ve got news for you – he wasn’t. What he was going to do is come round here and blow your bloody head off your neck!’

‘Says you,’ he grunted.

‘Says anyone with half a brain.’ Petra didn’t have any regrets about releasing Sadie Wise. The girl, as she’d promised, hadn’t gone to the law, not about the kidnap and not about the accident either. At about eight o’clock on the morning after she’d let her go, Petra – who hadn’t been to bed yet – had received a phone call from Stone. His instructions had been curt and to the point.

‘There’s going to be a car arriving in ten minutes, a grey BMW. Give Sadie’s coat and bag to the driver.’

Petra didn’t have a problem with that. She knew where they were. While she’d been cleaning out the cellar, she’d found them stuffed into a crate in the bigger room. ‘And then what?’ she’d asked. ‘What happens next? I don’t want more trouble. I didn’t even know about… She shot Wayne, don’t forget. She could have killed him. Why don’t we —’

But Stone had hung up before she’d had the chance to finish. The BMW had duly arrived and Petra had hurried out to hand the things over. She’d thought about asking the driver to pass on a message to Stone, but had second thoughts when she saw the evil look in his eyes.

The rest of the morning had been equally tense for her, trying to act normal when the kids got up while all the time stressing over what Stone might do next and wondering whether the law would come knocking on the door.

Petra took her hands out of the bowl and dried them on a tea towel. She gave her son an impatient, irritated glance. ‘And don’t ask me to say I’m sorry ’cause I’m not. I’ve got better things to do for the next ten years than stare at the four walls of a prison cell.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said dismissively.

‘And don’t “yeah, yeah” me. That girl could have bleedin’ well died in that cellar. Then what? You’d have had a bloody corpse to deal with. Don’t you ever think about anyone but yourself? We’d have all gone down for it, the whole damn lot of us!’

Wayne curled his lip, the loss of the money still rankling with him. ‘She wasn’t going to croak, for Christ’s sake. A few more days and he’d have paid up. That’s twenty grand you flushed down the toilet.’

‘I saved your bloody skin is what I did. Try showing some gratitude for a change.’

‘Thanks for nothing,’ he said sarcastically.

Petra made a tutting noise and got on with making the lunch. While she peeled the spuds a small triumphant smile tugged at the corners of her lips. It was good to know that she was still in charge, still in control. She’d played a smart game and got away with it. Not one of them, not Wayne, Kelly or Sharon, had managed to suss out what had really happened that night.