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‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m not sure.’

Lottie scanned the area for a parking spot. ‘I think you are.’

Imelda kept her head down. ‘Leave it for now, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Lottie relented. ‘But you should have gone to the guards on day one.’

Imelda was quiet for a few moments before asking, ‘Do you know how Ann Wilson is?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I saw all the guards and news vans at her house. She killed her husband, didn’t she?’

‘Imelda, do you not know?’

‘Know what?’

‘It’s Ann who’s dead.’

‘No!’ A fractured sob escaped Imelda’s mouth and she pressed her hand to her lips.

Lottie waited while someone exited a parking space, and then pulled in. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘How could anyone eat at a time like this?’

She switched off the engine. ‘You need to eat. You look like you haven’t had a bite in a week.’

‘I can’t face food at the moment.’ Imelda paused, staring out the window, before glancing over at Lottie. ‘Is it all my fault?’

‘The murders?’

‘Ann’s death.’

‘Why do you say that? Do you think you’re responsible for hers but not the others?’ Lottie decided to say what had been lurking. ‘I think it’s time you explained your role in all this.’

‘I should have known you’d think I’m a murderer,’ Imelda snorted, her voice laced with derision.

‘You have done nothing to convince me otherwise.’

She put her head in her hands and sobbed. ‘No one understands.’

‘I’m willing to try,’ Lottie said, unsure if the tears were genuine or manufactured. She found it difficult to get a handle on the real Imelda Conroy. ‘Let’s walk and get some air.’

‘I’m not sure I can move.’

‘The fresh air will do you good, and then if you feel up to it I’ll get us some food. A cup of tea.’

Once out of the car, Lottie looked down along the promenade, at the strand where only yesterday she’d walked with Ann Wilson. Now Ann was dead.

She let her gaze wander over to Imelda, who in her current state was sure to attract attention. From the boot of the car she fetched a navy fleece jacket. It hadGARDAemblazoned across the back, so she turned it inside out and Imelda put it on.

Once attired, the woman seemed unsteady on her feet. She took Lottie’s proffered arm and clung on.

‘Why did you decide to make this particular documentary?’ Lottie asked.

‘I wanted to tell a story. But the story became bigger than anything I could ever have hoped for.’