'It was Marilyn he was most suspicious of. She was spending more and more time in London. Oliver and her were virtually separated. When I described Eddie Waldron to Jem, he thought it sounded like a man he'd once seen Marilyn with, at the marina in St Helier. She came over for Christmas. Jem was expected to spend the holiday at Eden Holt and it would have looked odd if he'd refused, so off he went. He got into a row with them about Radd, he told me afterwards. And he asked Marilyn a lot of pointed questions about how she and Oliver had met.

'He got more of a reaction then he'd bargained for. He was due to join me in St Malo on New Year's Eve. The day before that, when he was shopping in St Helier, he spotted Marilyn on the other side of the road, hurrying out of a bank, with a brown-paper parcel in her hand, looking… furtive, he reckoned. She didn't notice him and he followed her into Royal Square, where he hung back and watched as she sat down on a bench and unwrapped the parcel. Inside were two small antique books. Well, Marilyn's no book collector, is she? Jem didn't know what to make of it. But he was more than curious. He was suspicious. Specially when she tore the front page out of each of the books and folded them away in her handbag. Then she put the books into a carrier-bag, chucked the wrapping paper in a bin and headed off.

'Jem followed. And you can guess where he followed her to. Quires, in Halkett Place. He watched her through the window from behind a delivery van on the other side of the street and saw her slip the books out of the bag and onto the shelf. Then she left.

'Jem let her go, then went into the shop and took a look at the books. When he saw what they were, he knew he had to buy them. They were evidence. Evidence Marilyn had been eager to get off her hands. He'd got hold of a transcript of the original inquest at the time of Radd's confession to check for contradictions. So, he knew what you'd told the coroner about Griffin and the special edition of the Junius letters. And there they were. Minus the flyleaves. The fact that Marilyn had torn them out clinched it for him. His probing over Christmas had panicked her. She'd decided to cover her tracks. Maybe she'd meant to get rid of the books for years but hadn't bothered to. Maybe the distance opening up between Oliver and her was a factor. Maybe she didn't expect to be back in Jersey that often. It doesn't matter why she made her move that day. What matters is that Jem caught her in the act.

'I wish to Christ now he hadn't. He'd still be alive. We'd still…' She swallowed hard. 'Sorry. Can't stop now, can I? Can't go all weepy on you.

'The Junius letters were clearly the key to it all, but Jem didn't really understand why. He couldn't get the idea out of his head of using them in some way to expose the truth – and to punish Marilyn for her part in it. Eventually, he decided to construct a message out of words and phrases in the letters and send it to three people outside the family he hoped could be goaded into going back into the case. Sharp. Wisby. And Hollins – the policeman who put Radd away. Looks like Hollins ignored the letter. But Sharp and Wisby didn't. They rose to the bait.

'Jem didn't kill himself because he was afraid you'd expose his campaign to his parents, y'know. He did it to shield me. To draw a line, with me on the safe side of it. He was spooked by the ruthlessness of whoever's behind all this. He felt guilty for stirring up trouble for me. He didn't quite believe they'd killed Sally, y'see. But when they killed Radd? Then he believed. He didn't know where they'd stop. He wanted the truth to come out. All he got for his pains was unwelcome attention from you and Wisby. And he was worried who might follow after you. You meeting me was the last straw, I reckon. He was determined no-one else would get the chance. So, he sent me to St Malo, knowing he never would meet up with me there. And then he went to finish it with you and Wisby the only way he could.

'I'm alone now, like I guess I always have been. Miranda, the sister I can't even remember. Jem, the brother I had for a few precious months. They're gone. It's just me left. I don't know what to do. I can't run. I can't stay. I can't hide. I can't show myself. I want a mother and a father who don't lie to me or betray me or insist I'm dead or someone else or Christ knows what. I want justice for Jem. And for myself. I want everyone to face the truth. And I want to know what the truth is. But I don't expect to get what I want. I don't expect at all. I can't see the future. Any future. I can't see a way out. Or ahead. Or even back.' She paused, frowning into what remained of her coffee. Then, for the first time since she had begun speaking, she looked Umber in the eye. 'Can you, Shadow Man? Tell me honestly, can you?'

Chantelle had not had much of an answer to her question when she went back to her room. She was so clearly exhausted by then that Umber hoped she would sleep for the rest of the night. He held out no such hope for himself. He lay on his bed, not even bothering to undress, staring into the darkness above his head. And darkness was all he saw.

He rose at dawn and slipped out of the hotel, carrying the knife in its bundle of black plastic. He fetched the bag containing Chantelle's bloodstained clothes from the boot of the car and followed the coast path as it climbed the hill to the west. Cliffpath to Plemont, the sign at the bottom had promised. But soon, infuriatingly, it turned inland. He had to cut through a small copse and a bank of bracken beyond to reach the edge of the cliff. He tossed the bag and the bundle over. They fell amongst rocks and foaming sea, lost to the eye almost at once. Safe enough, he reckoned. He headed back.

When they left Greve de Lecq next morning, Umber shunned the obvious route back to St Helier, preferring to head east and approach it from the north, across the middle of the island. There was no good reason for such an elaborate precaution. They would only really be in danger of discovery once they were in St Helier. And there was no way of avoiding that danger if he was to retrieve his statement.

But the danger, he assured Chantelle, was actually minimal. It was just too soon for the police to have thought of contacting Burnouf. And Waldron's associates had no reason to. It was a simple errand, swiftly and easily accomplished. Nothing would go wrong.

That did not stop him telling Chantelle what to do if something did go wrong, however. They sat in the car in the Pier Road multi-storey, facing a concrete wall in the gloom of one of the lower floors, as nine o'clock ticked round. She had said she would not go alone. But the contingency Umber was determined to prepare her for was one in which she would have no choice in the matter.

'If I'm not back by ten, leave without me. Take the Juniuses with you and get off the island any way you can. Go to London. Phone this woman.' He passed her Claire Wheatley's card. 'There's a mobile number on the back. Claire was Sally's psychotherapist. You can trust her. Tell her everything. She'll know what to do for the best.'

'But you will be back by ten, won't you?'

'I fully intend to be.'

'So, no need to worry, then.'

'None at all.' He scraped off the time on the parking paycard and propped it on the dashboard. 'I'll see you soon.' Then he gave her a parting smile and climbed out of the car.