‘You need to take this straight to the police.’ ‘That’s out of the question.’

‘I’m sorry?’ I’m thrown.

I take the latest postcard back, all the while examining Matthew Hill very closely. I had not expected this reaction. I have wrapped this new card in a plastic wallet taken from Luke’s school folder. One of those very slippery plastic wallets with holes pre-punched. Dangerous things. I slipped on one left on the floor once and bashed my shoulder really badly.

The latest message arrived like the others, in a plain dark envelope with a printed address label. But this one is even odder and just a little more threatening. Black background again, with the lettering stuck on. KARMA. YOU WILL PAY. To start with I thought it very strange – the link with Buddhism or yoga or whatever. Weren’t they about gentleness and kindness and forgiveness? But then I looked it up online and read about karma being interpreted by some people as a kind of natural justice or comeuppance – bad consequence for bad action – and I started to go a bit cold . . .

I have to make this stop.

‘I thought you investigated this kind of thing? That’s what private investigators do?’ I regret the mild sarcasm but I am tense, still staring Matthew Hill right in the eyes, just a little disorientated, too. His advert made it sound straightforward. Exeter-based PI. Ex-police. Neat. Simple. I had imagined I would say what I wanted. And he would do it. That this is how he earns his living. Like someone coming into my shop. Birthday bouquet, please. Certainly.

‘Look. I’ve been following the coverage. This is new evidence. The girl’s still missing, and when there is a live inquiry I have this rule that I don’t

—’

‘Trust me, Mr Hill, this is not evidence.’ ‘And you know this because . . . ?’

I pause for a moment, not at all sure how much I should share.

‘Look. I know who this is from. It’s from the girl’s mother, Barbara

Ballard. She’s very upset with me. No. That’s an understatement. She is beyond upset, and who can blame her. I certainly don’t. I brought this entirely on myself. When the first postcard arrived I admit I considered telling the police. For a moment it really shook me, frightened me. We had quite a lot of hassle after my name was leaked and I thought it was more of the same. But I realise now what this is really about. There have been three, and so I just need you to gently warn her off, please. To stop this. Otherwise my husband will find out and then he will insist we go to the police, which I don’t want for her. She’s got enough to deal with.’

‘Well, I’m afraid I’m with your husband on this. You could well be wrong.’

‘Look – she comes to my shop. Twice so far. Just watches me through the window. She doesn’t know that I know. Obviously . . .’

‘Right. So when did this start?’ His expression has changed. ‘We’re talking in confidence? Yes?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good – because I am not reporting this, either. It really is my own fault. And I don’t just mean about the train. I went down there, you see. To Cornwall, last summer. To see the mother. My husband warned me not to and it turns out he was right. It was completely stupid of me. I see that now. Just one in a long line of mistakes I’ve made over this whole terrible business. The worst, as you will be well aware, was not phoning . . . not warning that poor family in the first place.’

‘You didn’t hurt the girl, Mrs Longfield. Weren’t there a couple of guys in the picture. Key suspects. Just out of Exeter?’

‘Yes. But that makes me feel worse rather than better, Mr Hill.’ ‘Matthew. Please call me Matthew.’

‘Matthew. My husband says the same thing over and over. That this is not my fault. But I’m afraid it doesn’t make me feel any better. And I can’t bear that they haven’t found her.’

There is a hissing noise suddenly from an adjoining room. I glance to the door across the office, which is ajar, and Matthew Hill stands suddenly, his expression softening.

‘I tell you what. Would you like a coffee, Mrs Longfield? I make a pretty good cappuccino.’

‘Ella. And yes, please. It smells as if you know what you’re doing.’ I feel a smile, relaxing a little, my shoulders changing shape. ‘I am rather fond of good coffee.’

‘Espresso machine. Imported beans – my own mix. It’s a weakness.’ ‘Mine too.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Sorry to be so spiky before. I was quite

nervous, coming here.’

‘Most people are.’ His voice trails off as he disappears into what I

presume is a flat alongside the office. He is gone for quite some time, eventually reappearing with a tray bearing two coffees plus a jug of foaming milk. I nod to the offer of milk.

‘So, tell me some more about this mother. About your visit to Cornwall.

All of it. No holding back on me.’

‘All right. I don’t know how closely you’ve followed the case but there was an awful kerfuffle with the press when they found out that I was the witness on the train. The nationals got terribly excited. Sent all their feature writers down. Big-moral-dilemma headlines. “What would you have done?” and all that.’

‘Yes. I saw the stories.’ He leans forward in his chair, sipping at the drink.

‘All very unpleasant. I have a flower shop. It was so awful we had to shut it for a month and close our social media accounts, too. I found I couldn’t face people. Friends were very understanding but some people were a bit odd. Even regular customers. You could tell from the way they looked at me.’

‘I’m sorry. The fallout from cases is underestimated. People can be very unkind.’

‘Yes, well. Tony, my husband, was completely furious. Like I say, he is very protective. A sweet man – and he was furious that my name got out.’

‘And how exactly did that happen?’

‘We were never entirely sure. I was at a floristry conference in South London. Training and business-modelling. Officially the police insist that the press just got lucky and put the jigsaw together by tracing me as one of only two people on the course from Devon. But Tony suspects a deliberate leak to boost press interest in the case.’

Matthew pulls a face.

‘So you do think that’s possible?’ I ask.

‘Wouldn’t like to say. It seems highly unlikely. They wouldn’t want to put you in danger.’

‘Danger? So you really think I might be in danger now?’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s not as if you’re the only one who could identify these men. No. I really think it’s unlikely there would be a deliberate leak. An accidental one . . . that’s a different matter.’

‘Well – either way. Everyone knows now. I’m the woman on the train who did nothing.’

‘Tough for you, then?’

‘Yes. But nothing compared to what that family has been through.’ ‘So why on earth did you go down there? To Cornwall?’

I can feel the sigh leaving my body and put the coffee down for a moment, cradling my head in my palms. ‘Completely stupid of me, I know. But the thing is, when I saw her, Mrs Ballard, outside my shop, just watching

me, I recognised her from the press coverage – it was in the local paper such a lot. Anyway. It gave me the creeps, and when I thought it over, I felt it would be better to try to talk to her. I got it into my head that if I told her in person how very, very sorry I was and that I accepted she had the right to be angry – that if she could see that I was a mother, too, and how terrible I felt about her pain . . .’

Matthew’s face gives him away. ‘Yes. I know. Stupid of me.’ ‘And she reacted badly?’

‘Understatement. She went completely berserk. Of course, I can see it now. I was being selfish. I had this fantasy in my head that if she could just see that I was a decent person and that I so badly regretted—’

‘Was anyone else there?’

‘No. Just the two of us. I took some flowers. A big posy of primroses, which I read were Anna’s favourites – which I can see now was probably the trigger. Made it so much worse. She became quite hysterical. Said she was sick of flowers and I had no place. No right. Floral tributes as if her daughter were dead. Which she doesn’t believe she is, incidentally.’

Matthew pours some more frothy milk into his coffee and offers me the same, but I put my hand over the cup.

‘Do you think it’s possible? That the girl is still alive?’ Matthew tightens his lips. ‘Possible, but statistically unlikely.’

‘That’s what we think. Me and Tony.’ For a moment my voice falters. I wish that I could feel more hopeful. I think of a recent television drama in which missing girls were found years later. I try to picture Anna emerging from a basement or a hiding place with a police blanket around her shoulders, but I cannot shape the scene in my mind. I cough, looking away to the wall of filing cabinets and then back, picking up my coffee cup once more. ‘So anyway. It was pretty terrible in Cornwall. I tried to leave. Apologising for disturbing her. She rather lost it.’

‘Physically?’

‘She wasn’t herself.’

‘Did she hurt you, Ella? I mean, if she hurt you, if she’s volatile, then you really ought to go to the police with this. They should know this.’

‘She didn’t mean to. A tussle on the steps outside – an accident more than anything. Just a bit of bruising. On my arm.’

Matthew is now shaking his head.

‘Oh, for goodness sake; it was my own fault. She’s not a violent woman. It wasn’t deliberate and I should never have gone there. Provoked her. But the point is, it shook me up a bit. I mean – I knew that she blamed me and I wanted to try to redress that. But the extent of her hatred. Her eyes.’

‘Which is why you think the postcards are from her.’

‘Don’t you?’

He shrugs, tilting his head from side to side. ‘I wish you had kept them all.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t want my husband to worry. He’s going for a promotion at work and has enough on his plate. Look, Mr Hill. Sorry – Matthew. If you won’t take this on for me, I will burn them. I’m not handing them in to the police, I can tell you that.’

Matthew examines my face very closely and shifts position.

‘I would like you to visit her, Matthew. You’re neutral and experienced at this kind of thing. I am hoping that you can put a stop to this without upsetting her further. Gently warn her off, but without involving the police and making it all worse for her.’

‘And what if you have this all wrong and it isn’t her? This mother who seems to have a bit of a temper on her.’

‘Well, then I will reconsider. And listen to your advice.’

‘Good. So we have a deal here, Ella? I try one visit to Mrs Ballard to see what I make of the situation, and if I’m still uneasy, you consider passing all this on to the police?’

‘You don’t seriously think this has anything to do with the investigation?’

‘In all honesty – probably not. If it’s not the mother, it’s most likely some saddo. But the team ought to be told.’

‘But my call?’

‘OK. We regroup after I’ve been to Cornwall.’ And now he is frowning, narrowing his eyes as he stands.

‘I take it you’ve heard the new development, Ella? This morning.’ ‘I’m sorry?’

‘On the local radio this morning. After the anniversary appeal.’

‘No. What development? Has someone come forward? I missed it.

What’s happened?’

Matthew winces. ‘They haven’t released a name, of course. But I’m assuming it’s the other girl. On the train. The friend.’

‘Sarah. Her name is Sarah. What do you mean? What’s happened to Sarah?’