‘Is that... is that better?’ she asked him.

‘Yes.’ He gave her a weak smile. ‘That’s better. So, concrete evidence.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘I’m guessing Jason Bell didn’t tell you anything useful?’

‘Ah, that,’ she said, clicking her pen again, and all she could hear was DT DT DT. ‘Yeah, no, he didn’t give me anything and basically told me to never darken their doorway again.’

‘I thought it might go that way,’ Ravi said. ‘I think they like their privacy, the Bells. Andie never even invited Sal over when they were together. And, of course, you are chief doorway darkener, Sarge.’

‘But,’ she said, ‘I do think the security alarm at Green Scene that night is key. That it was DT breaking in to get the duct tape and the rope he needed, for Tara. And he must have left before Jason Bell got there to check it out. Whether it was Billy or... someone else.’

‘Someone else,’ Ravi said absently, chewing on the phrase. ‘So that FBI profiler from that article, before Billy was caught, said that the DT Killer was a white man who could be anywhere from their early twenties to mid-forties.’

Pip nodded.

‘I guess that rules Max Hastings out,’ he sniffed.

‘Yeah,’ she said grudgingly. ‘He would have been just seventeen at the time of the first murder. And the night Tara died, and Andie Bell too, Max had Sal and Naomi Ward and the others round his house. He could have left when the others were asleep, but I don’t think it fits. And he has no connection to Green Scene. So, yeah, not him, as much as I want to put Max Hastings away for life.’

‘But Daniel da Silva used to work at Green Scene, right?’ Ravi asked.

‘Yes, he did,’ she said, her teeth gritted. ‘I just worked out the timeline this afternoon.’ She flipped through the scribbles in her notebook. She knew Daniel da Silva’s exact age, because he’d been one of the men in town who’d matched Charlie Green’s age profile for Child Brunswick. ‘Had to scroll back really far on his Facebook. He worked as the caretaker at school from 2008 to 2009, when he was around twenty years old. Then he started working at Green Scene at the end of 2009, and he stayed there until October-ish 2011, I think, when he started his police training. So, he was twenty-one when he started at Green Scene, and twenty-three when he left.’

‘And he was still working there when the first two DT murders happened?’ Ravi said, pressing his lips into a thin line.

‘The first three, actually. Bethany Ingham was killed August 2011. I think she used to be Dan’s supervisor, as well as Billy’s. The name redacted in the police transcript – I think that’s Daniel Billy’s talking about. Then Jason Bell gave Dan a job in the office – rather than out in the field, as it were – and that was at the start of 2011, as far as I can tell. Oh, and he married his wife, Kim, in September 2011. They’d been together for years before that.’

‘Interesting,’ Ravi said, running his hand over Pip’s curtains, checking they were fully closed.

She grunted in agreement, a dark sound at the back of her throat, as she flipped back to her to-do list in the notebook. Most of the crudely drawn boxes beside were now filled with ticks. ‘So, if Jason won’t talk to me, I’ve had a look to see if there are any ex-employees of Green Scene or Clean Scene – people who worked in the office who might know more about that security alarm on the 20th April 2012. I found a couple on LinkedIn and I’ve sent them a message.’

‘Good thinking.’

‘I think I should see if I can talk to DCI Nolan too; he’s retired now. Oh, I also tried to get in contact with some family members of the victims,’ she said, running her pen down those items in the list. ‘I thought I found an email address for Bethany Ingham’s dad, but the email bounced. I did find an Instagram profile for Julia Hunter’s sister, Harriet – you know, the one who mentioned the pigeons. It looks like she hasn’t posted in months,’ she said, opening up Instagram on her phone to show him. ‘Maybe she doesn’t go on it any more. But I sent her a dm just in c—’

Pip’s eyes stalled, caught on the red notification that had just popped up above the messages tab.

‘Oh shit,’ she hissed, clicking on it, ‘she’s just replied. Harriet Hunter’s just replied!’

Ravi was already up on his feet, his hands finding their way to her shoulders. ‘What did she say?’ His breath tickled the back of her neck.

Pip scanned the message quickly, her eyes so tired, so dried out, she thought they might creak in their sockets. ‘She... she says she can meet with me. Tomorrow.’

Pip felt herself smiling before she could help it. Luckily Ravi was behind her and couldn’t see; he would frown at her, tell her this wasn’t a time for celebrating. But it felt like it, in a way. It was another win for her. Save herself to save herself.

Your move, DT.

That must have been her, walking through the café door now, her head unsure upon her shoulders, swivelling this way and that.

Pip held up one hand and waved to her.

Harriet’s face broke into a relieved smile as she spotted the raised hand and followed it to Pip’s eyes. Pip watched her as she wound her way politely through all the tables and people rammed into this small Starbucks, round the corner from Amersham station. She couldn’t help but notice how much Harriet looked like Julia Hunter had, before the DT Killer stole her face and wrapped it up in tape. The same dark blonde hair and full, arching eyebrows. Why was it that sisters looked so much alike when one of them was dead? Andie and Becca Bell. Now Julia and Harriet Hunter. Two younger sisters, carrying around a ghost wherever they went.

Pip untangled herself from her laptop charger to stand as Harriet approached.

‘Hi, Harriet,’ she said, offering out her hand awkwardly.

Harriet smiled, shaking Pip’s hand, her skin cold from outside. ‘I see you’re already set up.’ She pointed down at Pip’s laptop, trailing wires connecting it to the two microphones, Pip’s headphones already cradled around her neck.

‘Yes, it should be quiet enough here in the back corner,’ Pip said, retaking her seat. ‘Thank you so much for meeting me on such short notice. Oh, I got you an Americano.’ She gestured to the steaming mug across the table.

‘Thank you,’ Harriet said, shedding her long coat and taking the chair opposite. ‘I’m on my lunch break so we have about an hour.’ She smiled, but it didn’t quite lift into her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching anxiously. ‘Oh,’ she said suddenly, digging around for something in her handbag. ‘I signed that consent form you sent.’ She passed it over.

‘That’s great, thank you,’ Pip said, slotting it into her rucksack. ‘Could I actually just check the levels?’ She slid one of the microphones closer to Harriet, and then held one of the cradles of her headphones against her own ear. ‘Can you say something? Just talk normally.’

‘Yes... um, hello my name is Harriet Hunter and I’m twenty-four years old. Is that...?’

‘Perfect,’ Pip said, watching the blue lines spike on her audio software.