‘But you knew about it?’

He ignored my question. ‘Where is Cecily?’ he asked. ‘In your letter, you said she’s disappeared.’

Stefan hadn’t known about Cecily – not until I’d written to him. And why should he have? He probably had limited access to newspapers inside the prison and Cecily’s disappearance wouldn’t have made it onto national TV. Again, I was angry with myself. I had broken the news to him without any thought of the consequences. It had just been another piece of the puzzle.

Now I chose my words more carefully. ‘We still don’t know where she is. The police are looking for her. They have no reason to believe that she’s in any danger.’

‘Why are you saying that? Of course she’s in danger. She was afraid.’

‘How do you know that? Did she visit you?’

‘No. But she wrote to me.’

‘When?’

By way of an answer, he reached into his pocket and produced a single sheet of paper, which he held on to for a moment before handing it to me. The first thing I saw was the date at the top of the page – 10 June. So Cecily had written this the day before she had disappeared! The letter was short, typed. I felt a stirring of excitement. It was new evidence. Nobody else could have seen it.

‘Can I read this?’ I asked.

‘Go ahead.’ He sat back, watching me all the time.

I unfolded the letter and read:

10 June

Dear Stefan,

You may be surprised to hear from me after such a long silence but we had always agreed not to write to each other again, and after the verdict, when you pleaded guilty, I thought it was better that way.

I was wrong. I’m so sorry. I know now that you did not kill Frank Parris. I still don’t understand why you took the blame and I want to come and see you and talk to you.

It’s difficult to explain. A man called Alan Conway came to the hotel after it all happened and wrote a book called Atticus Pünd Takes the Case. It’s just a detective story but he seems to have used people and things from the hotel. Mum and Dad are in it and Derek and there’s a hotel called the Moonflower. The story isn’t the same but that’s not the point. I knew from the very first page who killed Frank Parris. I’d known it all along, but reading the book made it clear to me.

I need to come and talk to you. I’m told you have to put me on a list or something. Can you do that? I’m also sending the book to Mum and Dad. They’ll know what to do. But I have to be careful. I don’t think I’m in any danger, but you know what the hotel is like. Everyone knows everything and I don’t want anyone to find out.

I’m writing this quickly but I will write to you again next week, I promise. And when I see you, I’ll explain everything.

With love,

Cecily

So it was true. All along, Cecily had known the identity of the killer. She had actually found it on the first page. I wished now that I had brought the paperback with me. The book opens with Eric and Phyllis Chandler in the kitchen at Clarence Keep. There’s a mention of florentines and Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, neither of which could have had any relevance to Frank Parris’s murder. Then I remembered that Andreas had a copy in the car. Once I was outside, I would read the whole chapter again.

‘As soon as I got this, I put her on the list for a visit,’ Stefan said. ‘I was wondering why I hadn’t heard from her. Then you wrote to me. That was why I agreed to see you.’

‘Stefan—’ I felt completely out of my depth. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him but at the same time I was afraid of offending him. Eight years in prison! How could he seem so calm, so unaffected? ‘I really want to help you,’ I said. ‘But I have to know. What exactly was your relationship with Cecily Treherne?’

‘She was the one who hired me after I came out of the Carlford Unit at Warren Hill. Her dad had this rehabilitation programme. She was kind to me when I was at the hotel. And when I was accused of murder, she was the only one who believed in me.’

‘You realise this letter could change everything?’

‘If anyone actually believes her.’

‘Will you let me keep this, Stefan? I’m in touch with the police detective who’s looking for Cecily. He also investigated Frank Parris’s murder.’

‘Locke?’

‘Detective Chief Superintendent Locke. Yes.’

For the first time, Stefan was angry. ‘I don’t want you to show him this,’ he said. He took the letter back and folded it away. ‘That man is the reason why I’m here.’

‘You confessed.’

‘He made me confess!’ I could see Stefan fighting with himself, trying to keep his emotions under control. He leaned towards me, speaking softly but with venom. ‘That bastard persuaded me that things would go easier if I pleaded guilty. All the evidence was against me. I had a criminal record. They’d found the money and there were bloodstains in my room. He said that if I signed a confession, he would put in a word for me and like the fool I was, I believed him. So I did what he said and I got life with a minimum of twenty-five years. That means I’ll be nearly fifty before I’m free again. You give him that letter and he’ll tear it to pieces. He doesn’t want anyone to believe me. If I was found not guilty, how do you think that would make him look? He wants me to stay here and rot.’

He slumped back in his chair but he hadn’t finished yet.

‘I was finished the moment I came to this country,’ he said quietly. ‘I was twelve years old and I didn’t want to be here. Nobody wanted me to be here. I was trash – Romanian trash – and the first chance they got, they threw me in this place and forgot about me. You think anyone will read this letter? You think anyone will care? No! I could die in here. I could kill myself tomorrow and I would except for the one brightness in my life, the one dawn that gives me hope.’ I was going to ask him what he meant but then he asked: ‘Do you know who killed Frank Parris?’

‘No,’ I admitted. ‘Not yet.’

‘You’re an editor. Books! Not a lawyer. Not a detective. You can’t help me.’

‘Maybe I can.’ I reached out and rested my hand on his arm. It was the first contact between us. ‘Tell me what happened that night,’ I said. ‘Friday the fifteenth of June 2008.’

‘You know what happened. A man called Frank Parris was beaten to death with a hammer.’

‘Yes. But what about you? Where were you that night?’ He wasn’t going to answer so I went on. ‘What are you going to do, Stefan? Go back to your cell and sit on your own? How will that help you – or Cecily?’

He thought for a moment, then nodded.

‘I went to a party. Cecily and Aiden had a party for all the staff, next to the swimming pool.’

‘Did you have a lot to drink?’

‘I had some wine. A couple of glasses. I was very tired. After a bit I didn’t want to be there and I walked back to my room with the spa guy … ’

‘Lionel Corby.’

‘Yes. He had the room next to mine.’

‘Did you ever call him Leo?’

‘No. I called him Lionel. Why do you ask?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Go on.’

‘I was asleep almost at once. That’s all there is to tell you. I slept all night and I woke up quite late. Maybe half past eight the next day. I didn’t go back into the hotel. I didn’t go anywhere near room twelve.’

‘But Derek Endicott saw you.’

‘He saw someone. It wasn’t me.’

‘Do you think you were deliberately framed?’

‘Of course I was framed. Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve said? I was the obvious target.’

‘Tell me about you and Lisa.’

That stopped him. ‘She’s a bitch,’ he said, simply, swearing for the first time.

‘You were in a relationship with her.’

‘There was no relationship. There was sex.’

‘She forced you … ’

‘You’ve met her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why else would you imagine someone like me would want to have sex with someone like her?’

‘And when you refused to do what she wanted, she fired you.’

‘No, of course not. She was much cleverer than that. After I stopped seeing her, she came up with these stories about me stealing money and things. It was all lies. She was threatening me. She made sure everyone knew she was suspicious about me and then she fired me.’

‘But you were still seeing her.’ I was remembering what Lionel Corby had told me, what he had seen in the wood. ‘A couple of weeks before the wedding, you were seen together in the wood near Oaklands Cottage.’

Stefan hesitated. I saw something, a memory, flash across his eyes. ‘That was the last time,’ he said. ‘I thought if I gave her what she wanted I would get her off my back. It didn’t work. Two weeks later she fired me anyway.’

He was lying to me. I don’t know how I knew it and I had no idea what he was hiding, but his demeanour had changed. Some of that innocence of his had become tarnished at the edges. I thought of challenging him but knew it would do no good. I watched him as he finished the Coke and put it down, his hands enclosing the can, almost crushing it.