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studio?’
    ‘Sure. She has the run of it, whether I’m there or not.’ Sam had looked oddly at Trish then and said with a quietness that was all the more convincing for its intensity, ‘I trust her too. With everything. But I don’t want her to see these. Not till I’ve decided what to do about this woman and her shitty DNA test.’
    Thinking of the way he’d looked then, Trish shivered. The anger in his expression didn’t surprise her, nor the bunched fists, but even the memory of them made her wish she hadn’t volunteered to ask questions on his behalf. Already there were layers of potentially lethal emotional problems in store for him and Cecilia. More information about his parentage might make life even harder for them both. But she’d made the offer so she had to do something about it.
    She picked up the phone to talk to Sally Elliott, the trainee clerk who was used as everybody’s gofer, and asked her to resurrect Sam’s old case papers from whatever archive had been used to bury them and also to find out why Maria-Teresa Jackson was in Holloway.

Chapter Four
    Sam sat with Cecilia’s broken head cradled in his lap. Rage had driven every thought and memory out of his mind. She was the only person he’d ever loved and she was dying. He’d phoned for an ambulance as soon as he’d understood how bad it was, then tried to keep her alive till help came. In that moment, he would have done anything, given anything – even his talent – to roll back time to the moment before she’d been hurt.
    There was no peace in her dying. Snorting through a crushed and bloody nose, she thrashed around whenever he let go of her shoulders. So far he’d been able to hold her down, but if the ambulance didn’t come soon, she might do herself and the baby even more damage.
    It had been nearly ten minutes since he’d phoned. She was still breathing, but only just. He wanted to throw up. How could anyone do this to a woman who’d done no harm? And pregnant too? What kind of monster would you have to be?
    Fresher blood was seeping now out of the corner of her split mouth. From her lungs? Was there any part of her body that hadn’t been damaged? He saw her grossly distended belly move through the rips in her clothes, as though the baby was trying to kick its way out. Fluid was leaking between her legs.
    The spooky two-tone sound of the ambulance siren reached him just in time, and he let his breathing become more natural. The door was open, so he wouldn’t have to get up and leave her for a second until they could take over her care. He delicately picked some of the hair away from her eyes, feeling the sticky weight of the blood that clumped it together. He could hear running footsteps and looked towards the door.
    Kind voices, he thought an instant later before the paramedics had even reached her side. How can they have such kind voices when they can see this?
    One of the green-suited men held his shoulders much as he’d been holding hers and gently pulled his arms away from her body.
    ‘When’s the baby due?’ asked the other one, laying competent-looking hands on her belly and squinting up at him.
    ‘Three weeks.’ His voice was high and reedy. He swallowed and said it again, sounding more like himself. ‘It’s still moving. I saw it. Whatever’s happening to her, the baby’s all right. Physically, anyway. At least I think it is. And there aren’t any wounds there. I don’t think she was kicked in the belly. But—’
    ‘Okay.’ The kindness was still there in the paramedic’s voice, but there was something else now: dislike; maybe even fear. ‘That’s great. Now, what’s your name?’
    ‘Sam.’
    ‘Great, Sam.’ There was a big smile on the man’s lips, but his eyes were full of mistrust. ‘We’re going to get her on a stretcher and take her straight to A&E. Will you come with us?’
    Sam nodded, watching carefully as they laid out a sheet that looked like the old picnic tarpaulins his foster