‘Well, that was helpful,’ Kim said, as Jaqueline Harris left the room.

‘Give the woman a break,’ Bryant said. ‘She’s only been Sadie’s housemistress for just over a month.’

‘Oh yeah, she was very quick to tell us she’s only been in the position for a short period of time and that she has ninety-six girls in her care. I think the word “troubled” is going to come up a lot,’ she said, recalling the woman’s brief understanding of Sadie Winters.

‘That word seems to follow this kid around,’ Bryant observed as the heavy oak door opened.

Nancy’s permed head popped into view. ‘May I offer you coffee or tea or—’

‘Nancy, is there really no other room we can use?’ Kim asked, looking around at the wood covered walls, stained and re-stained over the years to resemble the colour of melted chocolate. The heavy thick beams that ran the eight-foot length of the ceiling that seemed to be only inches from her head when she stood.

While Jacqueline Harris had been speaking Kim had realised why the room bothered her so much. Fairview, the children’s home where she’d spent much of her childhood, had had a room just like it.

It had been called the quiet room. Allegedly, it had been a place of reflection for minor discretions, usually backchat, coming in late for curfew or another minor breach of the rules. And the quiet room had been quiet, indeed, and locked from the outside. Usually for eight to ten hours at a time.

She remembered she’d just turned seven years old and at the home for three months when she was first introduced to the quiet room for deliberately spilling another girl’s drink at the dinner table. And she had.

Her open hand had knocked the plastic beaker from the new Jamaican girl’s grip, and she had watched the cheap, thin orange cordial spread across the table as girls had squealed and backed away from the travelling puddle, raising their plates of limp cheese sandwiches out of the way.

Kim had refused to apologise and had been grabbed by Mrs Hunt and dragged to the quiet room.

She had been removed six hours later and ordered to apologise. Again she had refused, and her own stubbornness had prevented her explaining that she had knocked the drink away after seeing one of the older, meaner girls spit into it.

During her time at Fairview Kim had been no stranger to the quiet room. One carer had once joked about putting a nameplate on the door.

‘Sorry, officer, but Principal Thorpe said this was the only room available,’ Nancy said, bringing her back to the present.

Oh, he did, did he? Kim thought. If he thought trying to confine her to an office barely bigger than a jewellery box was going to speed up their investigation, he could think again.

‘And I’m afraid Graham Steele, the school counsellor, won’t be coming to see you next,’ Nancy continued. ‘He’s had to leave site unexpectedly.’

‘Okay, thank you,’ Bryant offered, quickly, obviously seeing the scowl that was settling on her face.

She frowned as the door closed behind Thorpe’s assistant.

Kim stood and opened it again before looking back into the room.

‘Okay, Bryant, come on, give me a hand,’ she said, lifting her side of the desk.

‘You’re kidding?’ he said.

She shook her head and began dragging the desk along the floor.

‘Jesus, hang on, you’re gonna bloody hurt yourself,’ he said, grabbing the other end.

‘Yeah, well, I’m going to hurt someone else if I stay in here much longer,’ she admitted. ‘And the likelihood is that it’s gonna be you.’

‘Turn it sideways,’ he said, as she reached the door.

Kim had quickly realised that the desk was a replica and nowhere near as heavy as the real thing would be.

‘Where are we taking it?’ he asked, once they were in the corridor.

‘Just follow me,’ she said, walking backwards.

Once she was back in the grand entrance hall she set her end down.

‘This will do nicely,’ she said, heading back for the chairs. She wheeled two out at the same time, one with each hand. Interviewees would have to pass them to get to the cupboard in which they’d originally been placed.

‘Not sure Thorpe is going to be all tickety boo with this arrangement,’ he said, as they sat down facing the entrance door.

‘His problem, not mine,’ she said, already feeling the cloying darkness evaporate from around her. She took a deep breath and began to relax.

‘Okay, so seeing as our counsellor is MIA, who are we interviewing next?’

Bryant took the list from his pocket and appeared to do a double take before a slow smile spread across his face.

‘The next one is a person I feel will need no introduction at all.’