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“So what will you do now?” Davey asked, breaking Steph’s train of thought.

She looked up.

“I dunno. Go to Sheffield and see my parents I suppose. Write a book about what happened to that poor kid.”

“What will you say killed him?”

Steph thought about it. What would she say? With Kelvin dead would she be allowed to write whatever she wanted? Did she want to write the truth? Maybe the truth was so farfetched that it would discredit her more than it would boost her sales.

“I guess I’ll say a big cat got him,” Steph replied. Then she said, “Or maybe I will leave it open and not reach a conclusion. Sometimes people don’t like to know the exact truth; it leaves them with nothing to imagine.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in my area, it is other people’s ability to draw their own conclusion that pays my bills.”

A car drove past with a child’s face pressed against the window. Steph stuck her tongue out.