police never tracked down her boyfriend?’
‘They investigated, they pulled her private life apart, but they never came up with a name and whoever he was, this boyfriend never came forward. Never volunteered himself.’
‘Do you think it’s because he’s the one who tried to kill her?’
Angela nodded. ‘Just like he killed those other two women. And now he’s taken Kathryn from us too.’
‘You think it’s the same man?’
‘He knew her. He knows us.’
Dominic. His name reverberates in my head, crowding out everything else. A man who had been at the heart of this family, who knew them all.
‘The message he sent from Kathryn’s mobile,’ I say, ‘about your holiday home?’
Angela nods. ‘How else would he know something like that, except from Zoe?’
‘Did the police . . .’ I can’t think of a sensitive way to put it. ‘Are they going to take a sample of DNA from Mia? See if they can track him down that way?’
She nods slowly. ‘They did it once already but there was some sort of problem with it. They’re going to take another sample on Monday.’
A high-pitched sigh cuts through the silence and Angela takes the little baby monitor from her pocket, the display popping with green lights as it transmits the tiny voice to us from somewhere else in the house.
‘She’s awake,’ Angela says, with the ghost of a smile. ‘Would you like to see her?’
‘Yes, I’d like that.’ My heart swells in my chest at the thought of seeing Mia again, a sunburst of warmth right at my core. ‘I’d like it very much.’
She gives Zoe’s monitors one more check and kisses her gently on the temple, then leads me back out to the entrance hall. I follow her up the grand curving staircase, each step wide and shallow as it sweeps up to a first floor landing lit by a chandelier. The staircase continues upwards to a second floor, another landing, past bedrooms and bathrooms, a library and a home gym, the little voice on the monitor burbling and chattering all the way. At the end of the landing, Angela opens a door and beckons me through. The nursery is at least five times the size of the little box bedroom at my house, with every conceivable gadget, toy and labour-saving device for new parents. It’s tastefully decorated in yellow and pale blue, one wallpapered wall busy with images of colourful tropical birds. Angela pulls up half-closed blackout blinds on two tall windows, bathing the whole room in afternoon light.
‘It’s a little bit different to when I was growing up with my brothers and sisters in Toxteth,’ she says, leaning down into a cot in the corner. ‘Back then it was five to a room, two in each bed and the littlest in the bottom drawer.’
She lifts the baby up onto her shoulder, supporting her head and whispering into her ear. Tiny hands clutch the folds of her grandma’s cardigan. A soft white sleepsuit, tufts of blonde hair standing up off her head as she gurgles happily. Angela walks over to me and turns around so I can see her face, this little miracle baby.
Mia.
55
‘This little one is the only thing that’s keeping us going,’ Angela says, jiggling Mia gently on her shoulder. ‘Such a happy baby, just like her mum was.’
Mia gives me a gummy grin, her chuckle lighting up the room, and at the sound of it I feel my heart lift. Angela sees me and her expression softens.
‘Would you like to hold her for a minute, while I get her feed ready?’
I nod. Angela smiles and hands Mia over to me, settling her gently so she nestles in the crook of my elbow. I rock her slowly from side to side, that perfect weight in my arm, soft and warm and beautiful. Mia looks up at me with her big blue eyes, smiling and giggling, a little hand reaching up to my face, tiny fingertips brushing my cheeks. A little bundle of life, pure and untainted, untouched, this one good thing that has survived in the midst of so much tragedy and grief.
Angela takes a clean baby bottle from the cupboard and puts it into a Perfect Prep machine next to the changing table. She presses buttons on the machine’s display and it whirs into life, preparing a formula feed for Mia.
‘Sometimes I just come in here and sit with her and cry,’ Angela says. ‘She’s all I have left of my girls, now. Of either of them. I look