Ben doesn’t have satnav in his truck, so I use Google Maps on my phone to navigate as we drive through rain, wind, hail and sleet. We barely talk on the journey, but it’s not awkward or strained, we’re simply thinking our own thoughts. I’m determined that today will be the day I get answers. I’m going to make Fisher speak to me. The hardest part will be getting him to open his front door and let us in. I clutch his wife’s letter tightly – this could be my only way of getting him to listen.

At 3.30 p.m., we drive into Cranborne, its narrow streets so dark and deserted it may as well be the dead of night. I direct Ben to the road where Fisher lives and we pull up outside his house, where lights glow behind drawn curtains.

‘Nice place,’ Ben says.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’

‘So, what’s the plan?’ he asks. ‘Do you have one, or is this something we should have talked about on the journey?’

‘I’ll go and ring the bell, I guess.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘D’you think that’s a good idea? Maybe you should wait in the truck. It might be too intimidating with both of us there.’

‘I’m not letting you walk into a strange man’s house on your own, Tess.’

‘That’s if he lets me over the threshold.’ Now that I’m here, I’m starting to doubt he’ll even open the door.

‘I’ll be meek and mild,’ Ben says, bowing his head and hunching his shoulders. ‘I won’t be intimidating at all.’

‘Okay.’ It’s true I’d feel more confident with Ben by my side. ‘Shall we do it, then?’ My insides twist at the thought of seeing Fisher once more, remembering how he yelled at me last time.

Ben must have noticed my hesitation. ‘You don’t have to, you know. We can always go back home if you’ve changed your mind. It could be for the best…’

‘That would be good,’ I say. ‘Making you drive a six-hour round trip for nothing.’

‘I don’t mind. We could stop off at that inn first. Have a drink, then head home.’

‘I haven’t changed my mind,’ I say, squaring my shoulders. ‘I want to do this.’

‘Okay, come on then. Let’s do it.’

We get out of the car, our heads bent low against the wind and rain. Ben opens the gate to Fisher’s house and ushers me through it. We walk along the path and up the few steps to his front door. With my heart hammering, I place my finger on the doorbell and press down hard.

The chime sounds far away, like it’s coming from another universe rather than from behind this rain-spattered red front door. After a moment, I hear the sound of a lock being turned. Ben and I glance at one another. He nods, his eyes full of encouragement, as the door is pulled open and light spills out, making me blink.

Fisher stands there, wearing jeans and a blue V-necked jumper. He looks at Ben first, and then his gaze falls on me, his quizzical eyebrows raising in disbelief and lowering almost instantly in anger.

‘You,’ he says. ‘I’m calling the police.’ He pushes the door towards us, trying to slam it closed again, but Ben is too quick for him, taking a step up and wedging his shoulder into the fast-closing gap.

‘Please!’ Ben cries. ‘Hear Tessa out.’

But Fisher isn’t having any of it. He’s pushing at the door as Ben shoves it back as hard as he can. I’m terrified I’m going to end up getting Ben arrested at this rate. ‘Ben!’ I cry. ‘Leave it! You’ll get hurt.’

But the door now stands wide open once more, Ben in the doorway while Fisher eyes him from further back in the hallway, panting heavily.

‘Tessa only wants to talk,’ Ben says.

‘I have nothing to say,’ Fisher retorts. ‘And I certainly don’t wish to hear any more of her lies and nonsense.’

‘Please,’ I say, taking a few tentative steps up to the front door and over the threshold. ‘Just give me a few minutes, that’s all. Then we’ll leave.’

‘I want you to leave now,’ he says, glancing around as though looking for something. ‘I told you before, I have nothing to say to you, and if you don’t leave right this second, I will call the police and have them arrest you for harassment. In fact, I’m calling them anyway.’ He pats at his jeans pockets – I guess he must be looking for his phone.

‘Listen,’ I say. ‘You can call the police, I don’t care. I think they might be very interested to hear what I have to say about your wife.’

Fisher goes deathly still and his face blanches. Behind me, Ben pushes the front door closed, stilling the wind and bringing a sudden, eerie silence to the hallway.

‘My wife?’ Fisher says, recovering his composure. ‘How dare you come here and talk to me about my wife. What has she got to do with you?’

‘I went to see Angela today,’ I say, staring at the doctor’s face, at his clenched jaw, at the slightly hunted look in his eyes.

‘My old housekeeper?’ he says, relaxing his shoulders. ‘She’s as nutty as a fruitcake. I had to let her go. Couldn’t be trusted any longer. Too much crossing herself and talking about God and hell.’

‘Or maybe,’ I reply, ‘she knew things you didn’t want her to know, so you fired her.’

‘I see she’s been filling your head with nonsense, too.’

‘Angela admitted she left Harry in my house,’ I say. ‘So you see, this whole business has been brought to my doorstep, not the other way around. I didn’t take your son. Your housekeeper brought him to me.’

‘And why on earth would she do that?’ he says.

‘You tell me.’

Fisher swallows hard before snapping, ‘I’ve heard quite enough of your rubbish. Now I’d like you and your Neanderthal companion to get out of my house right this minute.’ He takes a step backwards, casting glances around him once more, his eyes now darting up the wooden staircase. Perhaps he’s worried about his son coming down and seeing us here. I hope Harry didn’t hear us yelling; I hope he’s not scared.

‘Listen, Dr Fisher,’ I say, taking a step towards him. ‘Angela told me it was your wife’s dying wish that she bring your son to me.’ I stare at him, scanning his face for a reaction.

He takes off his glasses, rubs the bridge of his nose and replaces them again. ‘I told you,’ he says, ‘Angela isn’t to be trusted.’

‘Maybe she isn’t,’ I say, ‘but I also have a signed letter from your wife, stating that she asked Angela to bring Harry to me.’

At this, Fisher’s mouth drops open and he looks at me as though he’s seeing a ghost. In this moment, I know I’ve touched a nerve. I know that all his bluster is covering something up.

‘Get out!’ he roars. ‘Get out of my house!’

Ben comes and stands in front of me, one arm out to Fisher, his palm down, trying to calm him. ‘Come on, Tess,’ he hisses at me. ‘We should go, I don’t want things to get nasty.’

‘Why did it take you four days to report Harry missing?’ I cry.

‘Get out!’ he yells, striding towards us.

‘Were you on duty at the Balmoral Clinic when I gave birth to my twins? Were you there that night?’

Fisher stops dead in his tracks and turns around so he’s facing away from us, muttering and gripping the top of his head with both hands. Then he strides out of the hallway and into one of the back rooms – the dining room, if I remember the layout correctly.

‘What’s he doing, Tess?’ Ben asks.

‘Don’t know,’ I whisper. ‘But I think I’m hitting some nerves, don’t you?’

‘Definitely. He’s guilty of something, no question. But we should go, he could be dangerous.’

‘We can’t go now. We’re so close to finding out the truth.’

Seconds later, Fisher returns to the hall with a mobile phone. ‘I’m calling the police,’ he grunts.

‘Where’s Carly?’ I ask, ‘The journalist who came to see you yesterday. Have you done something to her?’

Fisher flushes, whether with anger or guilt I can’t tell. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about,’ he cries. ‘There aren’t any more journalists, they’ve all gone. Why can’t you do the same and leave me alone? I’ll give you one more chance to get out and then I’m calling 999.’

‘Call the police, then,’ I say. ‘I’ll ask them about Carly, and I’ll show them the letter from your wife.’

Fisher lowers the phone, his shoulders drooping. ‘Look, I don’t know what you want from me,’ he says, running a hand through his hair. ‘Why can’t everyone just leave me and Harry alone? That’s all we want, to be left in peace.’

‘Dr Fisher,’ Ben says softly. ‘Why don’t we sit somewhere and discuss this calmly? It might be better than shouting and hurling accusations at each other.’

Just then, the doorbell’s dull chime startles me. I catch Ben’s eye and we both look at Fisher, who seems equally surprised. Has he called the police already? If he has, they’ll probably arrest me. I need to prepare myself for that. Ben and I move out of Fisher’s way as he walks to the door, turns the handle and pulls it open. I brace myself for trouble. Ben takes my hand and I grip it tightly.

But the person standing on Fisher’s doorstep is not a police officer.

It’s Scott.