It only normally took a couple of letters to galvanise her sister into action. If not, Alex had a few more tricks up her sleeve to prompt Sarah into getting out her running shoes. On your marks, get ready, now run, Sis.

Although her sister was quite predictable by now, Alex continued the game just because she could and it gave her some measure of entertainment to have an involvement in Sarah’s life. The fact that the pathetic fool allowed herself to be uprooted every few years was entertainment in itself.

‘… it started a couple of weeks after the birth …’

Yada, yada, yada. Alex wondered if her boredom would be relieved if she started plucking the fine, light hairs out of her arms one by one. It would probably be less painful.

Oh Lord, spare me from this tedium. In Alex’s opinion postnatal depression was turning into the most fashionable accessory for most first-time mothers and was being diagnosed indiscriminately. There were no baby blues or periods of adjustment anymore.

‘… I just felt worthless and I wanted to understand what had caused these feelings …’

Probably your own subconscious being honest with you, Alex thought as she nodded at the woman’s distress.

‘… felt guilty for all the negative thoughts. I felt like I was letting my husband down. He was so excited and was enjoying the baby and I couldn’t tell him the truth.’ She shook her head, fighting back tears. ‘I thought I was going crazy …’

All very textbook, Alex thought, although Jessica had arrived at this stage quicker than she’d thought. Alex would now be forced to endure the monotony of asking some questions.

‘Did you experience any suicidal thoughts?’

Jessica hesitated then nodded, wiping her eyes. ‘Which just gave me something else to feel guilty about: contemplating leaving them.’

‘What happened that day?’ Alex asked. She now wanted this useless woman gone. If she had to guess, she’d say the child just wouldn’t stop crying and she’d gripped it by the arms too tightly or some other banal reason.

‘Which one?’ Jessica asked.

The question surprised Alex. She had assumed there had been only one episode of violence towards the child and that social services had been involved from the beginning.

‘The first one,’ Alex responded, offering her full attention. This was now getting interesting.

‘It was one of my worst days. The day before I’d felt on top of the world, really good, almost too good. I’d been full of energy and excitement. Then bump, the next day was darker than all the rest. I was terrified of everything. Even the kettle switching off was enough to set my teeth chattering. I remember that I couldn’t recall where I kept the washing powder. It was really strange. I found myself looking for it in the garden shed.

‘Jamie started to cry and at first I couldn’t find his bedroom. It was so weird. We’ve lived in that house for three years and I couldn’t find the second bedroom.’

Alex put down her notepad and sat forward. ‘Go on,’ she instructed, giving this new patient her full attention.

‘I stood above his crib and he stopped crying. I looked down at him and suddenly I heard these voices, very low at first, telling me to pinch him. It was garbled but as soon as I heard it, I knew that everything would feel better if I got his skin between my fingers and squeezed.’

Alex was alert to every word now. ‘And is that what you did?’

Jessica coloured, tears gathering in her eyes as she nodded.

Alex wanted to clap her hands together. Overworked social services had sent her a gift. This woman had been diagnosed as suffering from postnatal depression and exhibited all the signs. But on top of the obvious, Jessica had experienced euphoria, confusion and verbal hallucinations. Jessica Ross was suffering with postnatal psychosis, a very different kind of animal and one that made her suddenly very interesting indeed.

‘Oh dear me, I’ve just realised,’ Alex said, warmly, as she rose from the chair. ‘I haven’t even made us a coffee. Bear with me while I fire up the coffee machine.’

She smiled reassuringly at case study number four.

FORTY-EIGHT

Bryant parked the car behind Tesco in the centre of Blackheath.

‘You know you might have fooled them, but I’m not as stupid as I look.’

‘You couldn’t be,’ she quipped.

‘I know you weren’t at the dentist,’ he said, staring forward.

‘I do have teeth, you know,’ Kim clarified, tapping her top lip.

‘Yeah, I’ve seen them rip grown men to pieces, but that’s not what I meant. In three years you’ve never made a medical appointment in work time. Not even once.’

It was on the tip of her tongue to argue but she changed her mind. Bryant knew she had lied and Kim knew he knew she had lied. She had no wish to make things any worse.

‘I just need to be sure you know what you’re doing,’ he said, without turning her way.

Kim was tempted to lay one hand on his arm, to reassure him, but she didn’t and the moment passed.

‘Come on my little worrywart, we have a shadow to find.’

The shoe shop was located in the high street, nestled between a butchers and the entrance to the indoor market.

A bell sounded as Kim held the door open for Bryant.

Where the smell of car parts had been inviting to her, this small space was anything but. There was a musty air, as though the stock had lay stagnant and still for a very long time; not so much displayed as preserved.

Handmade price signs peeled from walls filled with dated handbags. A central island held an array of purses and wallets. It was a store with multiple personality disorder. Or a shop just trying to survive.

A male appeared from the back office and slid behind the counter. Kim guessed him to be late forties. His grey jeans were creased with a waistband that had been swallowed by his stomach. A black T-shirt showed sweat marks at the armpits. She couldn’t help wondering if his clothes were changed with the same frequency as the stock. But the picture was becoming clearer as to the shop’s popularity. Inviting, it was not.

Bryant stepped forward. Kim stood back and observed the male carefully.

‘We’d like to talk to you about Leonard Dunn. He’s a member of a book club you run.’

Kim saw a smudge of red skin appear above the neckline of the man’s T-shirt.

‘You know, of course, he’s been arrested for abusing his two daughters?’

Although Bryant spoke gently, the starkness of the question remained.

Charlie Cook shook his head vigorously. ‘I doe know nothing about any of that. We just meet now and again to talk about books.’

His eyes darted between them.

Bryant nodded his understanding.

‘Yeah, I’m in a book club, myself. Great to meet up with the boys now and again.’

Kim showed no surprise at his lie.

Bryant moved forward and leaned on the counter. ‘Missus thinks it’s a cover-up for something else.’

The redness travelled north.

‘It’s no cover-up … I swear … we read books … and then discuss ’em. It’s all we do … honest to God …’

‘Yeah, my missus thinks we just go out on the piss.’

Charlie visibly relaxed. He smiled and the redness dropped a notch.

‘But see, the thing is, we know someone else is involved in what Leonard Dunn was doing.’

The redness rose up like a blanket.

Charlie shook his head vigorously. ‘Nah mate … no way. Not one of us. No chance. Sick mate. Nah, not little girls … makes me ill. All we do is talk about books. Just the thought …’

‘Okay, Charlie,’ Bryant said, holding up a hand. ‘But we gotta ask.’

‘Oh yeah … yeah … course. I get it.’

‘Well, if you think of anything that might help, give us a shout.’

Charlie’s skin began to return to its normal colour at the prospect of them leaving.