It was there in her inbox, and yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to open it.

Subject: Arrest and interview/Michelle Harper (video attached)

Rachel had spent the remainder of Christmas Day and most of Boxing Day in her childhood home, cocooned in her mother’s familiar routine. They had been for a gentle amble round their local park, then come back and drunk Advocaat, reminiscing about how Rachel’s father – who had died fourteen years earlier from a heart attack – loved the syrupy yellow liqueur. Then, armed with foil parcels of sliced gammon and Dundee cake, she had driven back to Bermondsey, grateful to put everything to do with Christmas behind her. Not only was there too much buying of extraneous stuff: when it came down to it, festivities based on a virgin birth seemed far too much like believing in magic.

Waiting for her amongst the heap of mail neglected for the past week had been a stiff hand-written envelope. At first glance she’d assumed it was one of those custom-made Christmas cards featuring a saccharine snap of the sender’s family. But the card inside was thick, ivory and engraved.

Stuart had attached a Post-it note that read: Rae, would love to see you here but understand if you don’t fancy it. Decree nisi just issued and absolute should be through end of January.

Her first thought had been that he didn’t hang around. A wedding a mere three weeks after his first marriage ended. But then he’d waited so many years for this divorce, why delay getting on with the rest of his life?

In the same pile of post, she’d found an official manila envelope containing the decree nisi rubber-stamped by Central London County Court. It had been shuffled to the bottom of the pile like an ace in a card trick, and left with the unopened Christmas cards and bills on her desk.

First thing this morning, itching to get back to work, she had gone for a long run, then come straight to the office without changing. The place was largely empty, but it still felt like a return to the real world. The combination of the holiday shut-down and her boycott of the news had left her feeling strangely disconnected. The only person she had heard from was Howard Davison.

Looks like I’ll soon be single. See you in the gym soon? x

It would be fun to box with him, if nothing else. And perhaps now there could be something else too. Her reply was brief, but left no room for doubt.

Just try and stop me.

Now her finger hovered again over the email from Sydney.

But first, she decided, she should speak to DC Coles. Lola Jade was the most important person in this, not Michelle.

‘Have you heard?’ he asked, without preamble.

Her stomach lurched. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, so no.’

‘Lisa Urquhart died. Apparently, despite the attempt to save her in theatre, she went into multiple organ failure and died the next day.’

‘Christ.’ Rachel covered her face with her hand briefly, steeling herself to ask. ‘But Lola’s okay?’

‘She’s fine. Discharged from hospital after a couple of days, and social services have found a great foster placement for her.’

‘That’s a relief.’ She exhaled the breath she’d been holding without realising.

‘We’re just getting ready to make a press statement. We’ll combine the news about Lisa with the release about Lola being found safe. Obviously it was best to hold off saying anything until we were sure Lola was going to make it and social services had found somewhere suitable for her to go.’

‘We’ve done extremely well to keep the story out of the media this time,’ said Rachel. ‘Maybe the tabloid editors have finally got the message.’

Coles made a snorting sound. ‘Doubt it. But the Christmas shutdown was definitely in our favour on that front.’

‘Anyway, I phoned to thank you for your help in finding Lola Jade,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m going to speak to your chief constable about a commendation.’

She could almost hear him blushing down the line. ‘I just did my job, ma’am.’

‘Well… good work, Coles. And give my best to DS Rajavi.’

She procrastinated a few minutes longer, first fetching coffee then checking the Interpol databases, all the while trying not to look at Brickall’s empty desk. Then, with a deep breath, she clicked on the footage she had been sent.

The first file was from Sydney airport CCTV. A confident, almost relaxed Michelle strode up to the passport desk, huge sunglasses on her head and make-up freshly touched up. The border official asked her to wait to one side of the desk, and Michelle barely even had a chance to turn and take in the sight of two armed policemen before they had grabbed her and handcuffed her. There was no sound on the tape, but it was clear from the snarling, contorted face that she was screaming at them. As one of them grabbed her under the elbow to drag her away, she turned her face towards him, puckered her lips and spat directly into his face.

Oh Michelle, thought Rachel as she watched it. You stupid woman. You have no idea what’s coming.

The next file was the recording of her initial arrest interview, this time with audio. The bluff Aussie Interpol officer introduced himself as Pat Farrelly.

‘So, Ms Harper, can we start by clearing up why you’re travelling on a false passport? I believe Lauren Marie Hutchins is not your real name?’

Michelle completely ignored this. ‘You’ve got absolutely no right to arrest me. None whatsoever.’ She turned to the female lawyer who had been appointed to represent her, as though expecting to be backed up.

‘And who is Jasmine Gabrielle Hutchins?’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Okay, then how about a child called Harry Brown?’

Michelle gave her best stony stare, flicking her hair over her shoulders.

‘Jasmine Hutchins is your daughter Lola Jade, isn’t she? The child you claimed was missing. She was with you all along, only you were passing her off as a little boy.’

‘Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘But you did report your daughter, Lola Jade Harper, missing to the police in the UK?’

Michelle narrowed her eyes, but otherwise made no response. The lawyer leaned in and whispered something to her, which earned her a contemptuous look.

‘You must be aware,’ Farrelly continued in an eminently reasonable tone, ‘that perverting the course of justice carries a maximum penalty of life in prison. So, with that in mind, can we talk about your decision to pretend your daughter had been abducted, while pretending she was a boy called Harry.’

‘I can do whatever I want with my daughter,’ hissed Michelle. ‘She’s mine; it’s completely up to me.’

Pat Farrelly raised his eyebrows and looked down at his notes. ‘I see. I also need to ask you what you know about the death of a woman called Carly Wethers.’

Michelle’s eyes flickered slightly, but she resumed her outraged look. ‘I don’t know anyone called Carly Wethers. Never heard of her.’ She leaned forward, getting into her interrogator’s personal space. ‘This is all just a stupid misunderstanding. I’m here on holiday, with my sister. Lisa. She arrived last night.’

There was a heavy pause. Pat Farrelly glanced at the lawyer, who gave a faint nod and coughed to clear her throat before addressing her client directly. ‘Michelle, I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you. Your sister passed away. A few hours ago.’

Michelle’s hand flew to her mouth.

‘What are you talking about?’ she said eventually, in barely more than a whisper. ‘You mean she died on the plane?’

‘No,’ said Farrelly bluntly. ‘Her husband crashed the car. They were being chased by police, who were attempting to arrest them. For assisting you.’ He gave her a ‘see what you did’ look.

‘The police!’ croaked Michelle. ‘The bloody police did this! I’m going to sue. When I get back to the UK, I’m going to sue the bastards for killing my sister.’

Ignoring this, Farrelly raised an eyebrow. ‘Though of course their chief concern at the time was the whereabouts of your daughter. I’d say you’re very lucky they found her.’

‘Where’s Lola Jade now? Are they bringing her out here?’

Farrelly shook his head. ‘No, that’s not going to happen. Your daughter’s in the care of social services, where she’s safe.’

Only now did Michelle crumple. She buried her face in her hands and started to cry. She’ll never get it, Rachel thought sadly. Or if she does, she’ll never admit it: that her sister’s death is her fault, and that she endangered her daughter’s life. And when she’s charged with murdering Carly, she’ll plead not guilty. She’ll put everyone through a gruelling trial in the hope that the jury get it wrong. Her sort always do.

She consoled herself by preparing Michelle’s formal extradition. The arrest at Sydney airport had been under a provisional warrant; an emergency measure available when an offender was a flight risk. Rachel now filed the paperwork for a formal extradition order, which required input from first the CPS and then the Home Office. Then it would be the job of the force requesting the warrant to arrange for the offender to be collected and returned to the UK.

After a volley of emails and form-filling, and a couple of long phone calls to Nigel Patten, Rachel shut down her monitor, and went downstairs to see if she could secure a free patrol car.

‘Hello, stranger!’

She looked up from her conversation with the reception clerk to see Giles Denton standing there, wrapped in a greatcoat and huge scarf and looking for all the world like a Celtic Heathcliff. ‘Happy New Year.’

‘Almost,’ Rachel corrected him, aware that she was blushing again.

He flapped a large manila envelope. ‘Just dropping off some reports from the guys in Victim ID.’

Her mind raced back to the mistletoe incident. She felt a craven urge to justify her behaviour. ‘Giles, that night in the pub. I…’

‘Oh, go on with you. It was Christmas. What else were we going to do?’

‘Only I don’t normally go round randomly kissing people.’

‘Good God, Rachel, nor do I. But there’s nothing random about you.’

There was an unmistakable wink this time. Rachel grabbed the car keys the receptionist was holding out and turned to go.

‘See you soon, I hope, Detective Inspector Prince.’

Without turning back to expose her flushed face, Rachel gave a curt wave, then hurried down to the car park and programmed the satnav for HMP High Down for what she hoped would be the last time.

---

‘I’m being transferred,’ Gavin Harper said as soon as she sat down at the visitors’ table. ‘To Ford Open. So, lucky you caught me.’ He attempted a smile. ‘But you’re not here about that, are you?’

Rachel smiled. ‘I wanted to talk to you before the details hit the news… We’ve found Lola Jade.’

He nodded, but seemed afraid to speak.

‘It’s okay: she’s fine. Michelle had been hiding her, but she’s not been hurt.’

‘Michelle?’ He spat her name. ‘I knew it. I fucking knew she was trying to set me up. This had her written all over it. Where was she? What did that bitch do with her?’

‘She moved her to another house in Eastwell and made her look like a little boy.’

‘What, why? The woman’s insane.’

Rachel inclined her head without comment.

‘And all this was to take her from me? How long was she going to keep that up?’

‘She was planning to take Lola Jade to Australia and start a new life with her there. That’s where Michelle is now: in custody.’

Gavin was shaking his head in disbelief.

‘There’s a lot more to the story, but I just wanted to tell you before you heard it from somewhere else.’

‘So where’s Lola now?’

‘She’s in foster care.’

‘Can’t she go to Andy and his wife? Surely she’d be better off with family?’

‘I don’t know. But I’ll look into it, I promise.’

Gavin rubbed his fingers on his forehead. ‘Will I get her back? When I’m out?’

Rachel sighed. ‘It’s too soon to say for sure. But there’s a chance.’ She leaned in and squeezed his arm briefly. ‘Assuming you keep out of trouble.’

‘Oh, I will,’ he said earnestly. ‘I’ve got something to aim for now.’ As Rachel stood up to go, he added. ‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to show you. I don’t have my phone with me, but look on my Instagram for the video I posted in September last year. That will help you understand.’