Poppet

Berrington Manor

JONATHAN IS A fragile greyish-white, and dark-brown circles have appeared like bruises under his eyes. He eases himself around to face Caffery, his face creasing with the effort.

‘I’m listening,’ Caffery says pointedly. ‘Waiting.’

Keay takes a long, tired breath. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

‘You’re going to tell me how all the hallmarks of what happened in Rotherham came to be circulating Beechway unit. Ultimately resulting in two deaths and—’

‘Two?’

‘Yes. One in 2009—’

‘Pauline Scott.’

Caffery hesitates. ‘Pauline Scott. Yes. You were at Beechway when it happened.’

‘Yes, but what’s the second death?’

‘Zelda Lornton. She died almost a fortnight ago. At the moment it’s an open verdict from the coroner.’

‘Zelda?’

‘Yes. You knew her, obviously.’

There’s a long silence. Jonathan scans Caffery’s face as if he’s looking for the answer to something very painful. Then he gives a long shaky sigh and swivels the chair away. Folds his arms across his chest. At first Caffery thinks he’s going to start tapping away at the computer; it takes him a while to realize Jonathan is crying. Silently, helplessly, his shoulders jerking and heaving convulsively.