I set off driving, the Stag struggling up the steep hill. ‘You told me before that Luke and Sarah were close, that Sarah loved him,’ I said. ‘It would explain a jealous rage, I suppose, the knife in the chest, but Luke's friend tells it differently. He talked like it was a casual thing on both sides. That makes a rage less likely. So which one is real?’

Katie looked out of the window as old houses were replaced by traffic lights and a quick route out of town, the grey strip of the inner ring road, trees and flowers along the edge to break up the concrete. ‘The real Sarah is different to what people think,’ she said.

We were near the college again, and so I found somewhere to park and turned off the engine. Katie turned towards me, one knee onto the seat, and ran her fingers through her hair. ‘What do you think about Luke's murder?’

I could smell Katie's perfume, sweet and cloying. ‘I don't think anything,’ I replied. ‘Not yet. So tell me, why do you think Luke saw it differently to Sarah?’

‘Does it matter?’ she asked.

‘Maybe. It can't be a lover's rage if it was just a fling.’

‘Are you in love, Jack?’

I found myself about to say no, I didn't know why, like I'd been caught off-guard, but then I stopped myself and asked her why she wanted to know.

‘You're a man, Jack,’ Katie continued. ‘When have you ever told your friends that you loved a woman? I don't mean find attractive, or wanted to fuck, or whatever. I mean told a friend that you truly loved a woman?’

I didn't answer when I realised that she was right. And Callum too. That living up to being a man is all about the conquests, not the losses.

‘Sarah was in love,’ she said, her voice low and soft. ‘She talked about Luke all the time, like she was making plans. If Luke thought differently, well, that was his choice. He wouldn't be the first man to say I love you and not mean it.’

‘So that's it then?’ I said incredulously. ‘This all happened because Sarah loved Luke, but he didn't respond? Was she that unpredictable?’

Katie pulled at some strands of hair, twisting it between her fingers before letting it fall to her head. ‘Some people are like that,’ she said. ‘Great fun when things are going well, but she could be nasty and hurtful, very hot-tempered.’

‘A lot of people snap,’ I said, ‘but they don't all plunge knives into their boyfriend's chest. They'd just been in bed together. It seems quite a leap.’

‘I wasn't there when it happened, so I wouldn't know,’ Katie said, and she sounded hurt, like I was pushing it too much. Then she sighed. ‘I've never seen a dead body before,’ she said quietly, and she dabbed her nose with her sleeve, like a nervous reaction, her cuff over her hand. ‘He was just sort of splayed out,’ she continued, although I was surprised at the evenness of her voice. ‘There was this knife, just there, sticking out, with blood all over the bed. I've never seen so much blood before.’

‘What did you do?’

Katie gave a small laugh, embarrassed. ‘It sounds stupid now, but I called an ambulance. I don't know why, I could tell he was dead, but it was like an automatic reaction. When they came, they called the police.’ She rested her elbow on the car door and looked at me, her eyes filled with worry. ‘I'm scared, Jack.’

‘You've no need to be,’ I replied.

‘Because you're here?’ She shuffled closer towards me and put her hand on my leg. ‘You seem like a kind man.’ Her eyes stared into mine. Before I could answer, she said quietly, ‘Hold me.’

I was surprised, her touch unexpected. I closed my eyes, knowing that I had to end it as her hand stroked my leg. An image of Laura flashed into my head, and I took hold of Katie's hand.

‘It's okay,’ she said softly, ‘it doesn't mean anything.’

‘It would mean something to me,’ I said firmly, and lifted her hand from my leg.

‘I just needed someone to be there for me,’ she said, sounding hurt. ‘I'm sorry. Just forget it.’

‘No, no, it's not like that,’ I protested, feeling guilty now. ‘It's just, well…’

‘You might get caught?’ She shook her head. ‘Like I said, it doesn't matter,’ and then she reached for the door handle.

‘Don't,’ I said, too quickly.

Katie turned around, a half-smile on her lips. ‘What is it?’

‘I just want to finish the story,’ I said. ‘There are more things I want to know.’

‘Call me then, so we can spend more time together,’ Katie replied, flirting, and then she opened the door and stepped onto the pavement.

I leaned across the passenger seat and asked, ‘Do you think Sarah killed him?’

Katie leaned into the car. ‘Who else could it be?’

‘If Sarah had killed Luke and run away,’ I replied, ‘she would go somewhere she felt safe, maybe a favourite holiday place, or with friends who didn't know about Luke. Did Sarah ever talk about anywhere away from Blackley?’

‘Everyone in Blackley dreams of being somewhere else,’ she said.

‘Except that not everyone leaves,’ I responded. ‘So did she talk of anywhere else?’

Katie shook her head. ‘She's nearby.’

‘How do you know?’

Katie looked round, seemed worried that someone might be listening, and then whispered, ‘She has written to me.’

I was shocked. ‘What do you mean?’

She gave me a knowing smile. ‘Just that,’ she said. ‘I've been getting letters from Sarah.’

‘There's been nothing in the papers about that,’ I said.

‘The police are keeping them quiet, and they told me not to say anything about them,’ she replied.

I knew that sounded right. It was the sort of thing that the police would keep back, they had done ever since the Yorkshire Ripper tapes misled everyone and allowed Peter Sutcliffe to kill more women.

‘What do they say?’ I asked.

Katie shook her head at me. ‘Give me a call, Jack Garrett, and you might just find out,’ she said, and then she walked away, her bag swinging in her hand.

I jumped out of the car and shouted, ‘Wait!’, but Katie just kept on walking.

I watched her go, intrigued. I wanted to know more, I knew that, but I wondered what risks came with that, from the story and from Katie.

Chapter Fourteen

Blackley police station was on the edge of the town centre, in an old Victorian building next to the court, with steps to the front door and Roman arches over the windows. The interior showed its age, as paint flaked from the walls and cold draughts blew along the corridors. That would all be changing soon. The police were moving to a new-build station on the edge of Blackley, so the station was filled with boxes and crates as officers packed up exhibits and personal effects.

Laura was at the custody desk in its basement, a high wooden counter with dingy lighting and posters advertising prisoners' rights. The sergeant was hovering over a clipboard, watching Laura's prisoner count his change, making sure that he couldn't accuse anyone of stealing from him, before he got him to sign the custody record. An end to another fruitless day, thought Laura.

‘There'll always be another time,’ growled Pete.

‘You said that last time,’ came the reply, the prisoner smirking as he threaded his belt around his waist.

Laura placed her hand on Pete's arm as she saw him tense, but then she saw someone through the glass in the custody door. DCI Karl Carson.

He was hard to miss, a large man in a lilac shirt and navy trousers, his tie bright purple, knotted large, like he had lost count when doing the final loop. His bald dome glowed bright pink, more scrubbed than shaved, his face just the same, with not even the trace of eyebrows to break up the shine. Laura knew his name, and his reputation had been whispered around the station when the murder squad moved in. Ruthless and rule-bending, sometimes arrogant, but he had a squad of eager young men devoted to him, knowing that Carson got results, either through sheer persistence, or often by persuading witnesses to talk to him when they had resisted the polite way, his squad happy to swap their social lives for long hours of overtime and the occasional glimpse of the spotlight.

Laura thought about her meeting with Jack, and she felt her anger bubble to the surface again, that he was interfering in a live case, and that it could affect her; she hadn't been in Blackley long enough to fall back on too much goodwill. But she realised that he was right about one thing: that it would look worse for both of them if it appeared that he was secretly helping Sarah Goode.

She mumbled to Pete that she would be back in a moment and buzzed herself out of the custody office with the swipe card that hung around her neck whenever she was in the station. Carson was moving quickly along the corridor, heading for the Incident Room. Laura caught up with him just as he was about to step inside.

‘Can I have a word, sir?’

He stopped and looked at her, and then gave a quick smile.

‘How can I help?’

Laura paused for a moment as she saw those in the Incident Room stop what they were doing and look at her. The scene was as it had been since their move from headquarters, a temporary stop-over from their normal base on the outskirts of Preston, just in Blackley for the Sarah Goode case: paperwork and coffee, fingers tapping on keyboards, eyes concentrated on computer monitors, pastel shirts and bright ties. But now the activity had stopped, and all eyes were on Laura.

‘Can I have a word about the Sarah Goode case?’ Laura asked.

She noticed Carson tuck in his stomach and puff out his chest. The trips to the gym didn't keep off the weight, but it turned his bulk into something solid. He looked to his colleagues before he answered, a smirk on his face. ‘Fire away, sweetheart.’

Laura looked into the Incident Room again and wished she had waited. Most of the faces were smiling, but they weren't friendly. They were waiting for the show – and Laura knew that it was too late to back out.

‘My boyfriend is a reporter,’ she said, ‘and he's been approached by Sarah Goode's parents.’

Carson blinked, the information registered, but then he started to grin. ‘Boyfriend?’ he said, turning to his team. ‘How old is he? Sixteen?’

Laura went red, but from anger, not embarrassment. She didn't respond, knowing that she would say something she would later regret.

‘Tell me more,’ he said, smiling. ‘What's your name?’

‘DC McGanity,’ replied Laura. ‘On the CRT.’

‘First name?’ he said.

‘Laura.’

‘Okay, Laura, what did Sarah's parents want with your boyfriend?’

‘They want him to find Sarah,’ she replied. ‘They went to their solicitor first, and he set up the meeting.’

‘So it's coming through a lawyer?’ Carson queried, sounding sceptical. ‘And if he finds her?’

‘He's got to tell her to hand herself in.’

‘Why are you telling me?’

‘Because he asked me to,’ she replied.

‘And what if he tells you more but doesn't ask you to repeat the favour? Will you still come and speak to me?’ Before Laura had the time to respond, he said aggressively, ‘Because pillow talk is not confidential. You hear anything, little lady, come down here and tell me. Understand?’

‘I just thought you ought to know,’ Laura replied, feeling humiliated, her heart pounding with anger. When she turned to leave the room, someone spluttered a laugh behind Carson, and he started to grin.

As she walked quickly back down the corridor, she was aware of a pause, and then she heard the noise of Carson's team laughing. She guessed that Carson was leading the chorus.

When Laura burst back into the custody office, she saw her prisoner's arrogant grin.

‘If you hit him because he was messing around with your girlfriend,’ she said to him, her stare hard and direct, ‘you might have chosen the wrong tactic.’

The grin wavered. ‘Why?’

‘Us girls don't like to get lonely,’ she said, stepping closer. ‘I can bet who she spent last night with.’ Laura looked at her watch theatrically. ‘Do you want me to call her, to give him time to leave?’

The prisoner's face turned into an angry flush before the custody sergeant buzzed open the exit door. Laura stomped away quickly, slowing down only when Pete caught up with her.

‘I could learn from you,’ he said, as he got alongside her. ‘Menace with a smile.’

Laura sighed. ‘I let myself down,’ she replied.

Pete laughed and waved it away. ‘No, it was fun.’

As they walked along the corridor from the custody area, Laura heard laughter ahead. She guessed what was coming even before Carson appeared in the doorway, a few members of his team just behind him, sharing the joke.

They went quiet as Pete approached them, although the smiles remained. As Carson went past, Pete nodded and said, ‘Afternoon, sir’, more out of obligation than respect. Carson didn't respond. Instead, he looked down at Laura, before raising what should have been eyebrows at his team.

Laura looked down and took a deep breath, not yet ready for formalities. As their footsteps receded, she glanced back. One of Carson's men looked back towards her at the same time. He was dressed differently to the rest, in a dark polo shirt and casual trousers, bulky pockets on his thighs. As Laura looked, he smiled and nodded.

‘If ever you need a reason not to get promoted, there's a few to choose from there,’ said Pete.

Laura didn't respond at first. Instead, she walked on ahead, stopping only when she was back at her desk, holding another handover package.

‘C'mon,’ she said quietly. ‘There's another cell to empty.’

Chapter Fifteen

It was cold, and getting colder. Sarah Goode walked quickly around the room, her arms wrapped around her chest as she tried to keep warm, but it was no protection for her naked body. Her skin was pale and goose-pimpled, and she dreaded the thought of the night ahead. When she looked down, she saw how dirty her feet were, made grubby as she walked around, the soles of her feet numb, the soil floor turned to mud by the hose-blast from earlier.

She knew she had to stay strong, but she was cold and she was hungry. Her primal instincts took over, her need for food and warmth and sleep.

The pulsing heartbeat still reverberated around the room. She tried to walk in time to it, to use it as a distraction, to get some strength from it, but every time she got close to the speakers she had to clamp her hands over her ears.

Then the noise stopped.

Sarah went still, listened out for a noise, some hint at what was to come. And then the lights went off.

It was dark and silent for a few blissful seconds, but then she saw a sliver of light under the door. Someone was there. She heard the click of the lock, and, as the door slid open, someone holding a bright torch stepped into the room. All she could see was the light. She looked away and her vision swam with bright speckles.

Sarah shielded her eyes with her arm. ‘Who's there?’ she shouted. Maybe it was someone come to rescue her. ‘Please, who is it?’

The same voice she had heard before answered.

‘Have you thought any more?’ he asked, his loud whisper filled with menace. He walked into the room and started to circle her, the torch beam constantly shining into her face, blinding her.

Sarah tried to move her face away, but the light was too direct. She tracked him, not letting him get behind her. ‘I don't know what you mean?’ she said, her voice filled with desperation.

‘We talked about it before,’ he said. ‘Your future. What awaits you?’

Sarah shook her head. She tried to see behind the torch but it was too bright. ‘I don't know, you tell me,’ she said, and then she started to cry. ‘I don't know what you want.’

‘Don't be scared,’ came the reply, followed by a low chuckle. He was enjoying this. ‘Consequences, Sarah,’ he said. ‘That's all you are interested in. Fear of them. They hold you back.’

Sarah sank to her knees. ‘I don't know what you mean,’ she wailed, but then she scuttled backwards as she heard his steps in the dirt floor, coming towards her, slow and deliberate.

‘Your time is running out,’ he said as he got closer. ‘I am not your enemy. Fear is your enemy.’ And then he laughed again, this time low and mean.

Her head hung down and she dug her hands into the mud, cold between her fingers. ‘Please, please, please,’ she sobbed. ‘Let me go. I won't say anything. Just let me go home. Please.’

He paused, and then said, ‘That's a lie, and it's wrong to tell lies.’

Sarah looked up, sucked in air, tried to calm herself down. ‘I can't do this,’ she said. ‘I don't know what game you are playing, but I don't want to play any more.’

‘It's no game,’ he said. ‘I want to see what you see, that's all, just that moment.’

‘What moment?’

‘The final moment,’ he answered, his voice turned into a growl. ‘It's unique, that glimpse, when you know what lies ahead, the answer to everything. The final look back on yourself, and that last look into the future. Is there life beyond what we know?’

‘So I'm going to die?’

He laughed. ‘We're all going to die, Sarah.’

Sarah put her face in her hands. ‘What about Luke?’ she said quietly. ‘He'll tell the police.’

He laughed again, but louder.

‘What's so funny?’ asked Sarah, but she felt her stomach turn as she guessed what he'd done. She put her arms over her head and leaned forward, so that her forehead touched the soil. It was cold on her face, and images of Luke flashed through her mind. Smiles, laughs, good times, all rushing into her head. She started to tap her head lightly against the soil. Then she got faster, and her moans turned into screeches, the pain as she banged her head a distraction, until she was rocking up and down, her arms clasped around her body.

She looked up at him. ‘You've killed him,’ she screamed. ‘You fucking monster!’

He knelt down so that the hood was next to her face. ‘He didn't come to help you, did he?’ he mocked. ‘He stayed in bed as we took you to the car. What was it? Drunk? Or just not bothered?’

Tears streamed down her face. She clutched her stomach, his words making her want to retch.

‘Maybe he thought it was you running up the stairs,’ he continued. ‘He was still under the sheets when I ran in there.’

When Sarah didn't respond, he leaned into her ear and whispered, ‘Would you like to kill me? Right now, if you had the weapon, would you do it?’

Sarah didn't answer.

‘You could do it, right now. Your hands around my neck. I would fall over, you would overpower me.’

Sarah stayed silent, but as she felt his eyes on her, even through the cloth, she spat at him.

He wiped off her spittle. ‘You see,’ he said, ‘there's not much that separates us. Just my courage, and your cowardice.’

He stood up and left the room. And as the door slammed shut, the lights came back on, and the sound of the heartbeat returned, louder this time.

Chapter Sixteen

Bobby was playing on the floor as I browsed the internet, looking for information on Sarah Goode. He was talking to himself, soft chirrups, all part of his game. I liked the distraction. I worked better with a background sound, much different to the hush of Blackley Library.

The library had been my first stop after leaving Katie, to get copies of the stories written about Sarah. It was a long Victorian building, an old workhouse, with stained glass and arched doorways, incongruous among the glass shop-fronts further along the street, where bored sales assistants stared out of the windows and fiddled with their necklaces, the lunchtime rush long gone.

I was able to spend an hour making copies of the articles that had been written about Sarah, and now they were spread across the table. They all had the same theme: a pretty young teacher had killed a boy and run away. It wasn't explicit, but all week long there had been tributes to Luke, about what a nice young man he had been, sporty, outgoing, good looking. The comments about Sarah were different, tinged with surprise, at how a popular young teacher, vibrant and pretty, could kill someone.

I started to trawl through the Google hits once I'd read the newspaper articles, to find out more about Sarah, and it only took a few pages to start to build up a picture of her life. Sarah was listed on Friends Reunited, a jokey entry, saying how she had left school but then gone back, alongside her graduation picture, showing Sarah with a proud smile, her face dotted by freckles, her parents alongside. On other websites, I found news from her workplace, a state school on the edge of Blackley, not often a first choice when the applications went in. A school play. Ofsted reports. A charity event.

I browsed Facebook for her, it was always good for a quote, and wasn't surprised when I found her. I couldn't access her page, though; Sarah would have to accept my ‘friend request’ for me to be able to do that. I sent a request anyway, it only took one click, and then I turned to look at Bobby. He had found the play dough made by Laura a couple of days before, just salt dough laced with food colouring. He was cutting into it with a plastic knife, his tongue darting onto his lip with concentration.

‘What have you got there?’ I asked.

He looked up, distracted from his game, and then he beamed at me, the dimples he'd inherited from Laura flickering in his cheeks. ‘I've made you a pizza,’ he said, and held up a lump of green dough criss-crossed with lines.

I found myself smiling back at him, but I felt a kick of guilt as well. He shouldn't be making things for me. He should be making it for his father. What was I doing, making him live up here, so far from everyone close to him?

‘That looks great,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to eat it now?’

Bobby smiled proudly and brought over the lump of dough and placed it on the table in front of me. I sat him on my knee and tickled him, enjoyed his squirming and his giggling.

‘When's Mummy back?’ he asked between laughs.

‘I don't know. Soon.’

‘Do you like your pizza?’

I mimicked some lip-smacking sounds. ‘The best one I've ever had.’

When he looked pleased with himself, I asked him if he could make me a cake. Bobby hopped off my knee and went back to his place on the floor.

I was about to pick up my papers when I heard a car crunch onto the gravel outside the front door. Bobby looked up and then ran to it. As he looked outside, he shouted, ‘Mummy's here.’

I felt some of his excitement; I always did when Laura came home. While we hadn't been getting on recently, as soon as I heard the car I wanted to see her smile, wanted to feel that sense of excitement of us all being together. Her dimples, the hint of red to her brunette, the colour of the London Irish. And those private moments always came to me, of the Laura that only I knew: the feel of her skin under my hand, the way she kissed, soft and slow, those breathless whispers.

But when Laura strode into the house I sensed the darkness of her mood. She threw her bag onto the table and smiled a hello, but it was perfunctory and brief. Bobby ran to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Laura kissed him on the top of his head, then gently peeled his arms from her and marched towards the kitchen.

‘Everything okay?’ I asked.

‘Why shouldn't it be?’ came the shout back, but I could hear the frustration in her voice.

I joined her in the kitchen and found her browsing the wine we stored in a rack by the fridge.

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