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‘That’s the scar Israel Cobb gave you,’ Poe said. ‘From the cut that convinced Cornelius Green you were dead.’

Doctor Lang stared at the mirror in horror. Poe had seen the scar eight times now – seven times in this office and once in Eve’s basement – and he still marvelled at the fact she had survived. They had spoken to the doctor who had saved her life and he’d confirmed what Bethany had told him in the basement; that if the blade on Israel Cobb’s Stanley knife had protruded just one more millimetre the wound would have been fatal.

‘You are Bethany, Doctor Lang,’ Poe said softly. ‘But that’s OK, as it’s Bethany I want to speak to now. Would that be possible?’

Doctor Lang ignored his question. Still glued to the mirror, she said, ‘All this has been a game? You faked PTSD to win my trust?’

‘I’m not that good an actor,’ Poe said. ‘My PTSD is real; my nightmares are real. What we go through together is real. Director of Intelligence Edward van Zyl did order me to have counselling. But you’ve got a flavour of me now and you’ll probably agree that if I’m told to do something, I’ll kick back against it. Even when it’s against my own interests.’

‘So why . . . ?’

‘My brilliant fiancée, actually. She knew I’d either refuse to go to counselling, or I would mess about. She suggested this.’

‘And what’s this?’

‘You were a superb trauma therapist, Doctor Lang,’ Poe said. ‘And who knows, maybe you can be again. And because you would only speak to your doctors and nurses as Doctor Lang, they had to pretend to be your patient. But you’re far too experienced for that and you saw through what they were doing every time. Your therapy wasn’t working. So Estelle said that if Doctor Lang wanted a patient, why not give her a real one? Consequently, once a month, in this carefully managed room, I tell you my story, and because it’s also your story, we talk and we sit here and we remember together.’

‘But I don’t remember, Washington.’

‘You will,’ Poe said. ‘And now I’d like to speak to Bethany, please.’

‘My name is Doctor Clara Lang. I’m thirty years old and my parents are Philip and Gwen Lang. I live in Germany.’

‘No. Your name is Bethany Bowman, illegitimate child of Grace Bowman and Israel Cobb. Half-sister to Eve Bowman and half-sister to Aaron Bowman. You lived in Keswick until you were fourteen and after you had survived the mercy chair you were spirited away to Germany and placed with a family there.’

‘No!’

‘Yes,’ Poe insisted.

‘Please, I want you to stop.’

‘Not until I speak to Bethany.’

‘But I don’t know anyone called Bethany!’ Doctor Lang cried.

‘Yes, you do,’ Poe said. ‘And I want to speak to her.’

‘You can’t!’

‘I must.’

Her eyes glazed over. Only for a second, but Poe had been watching out for it. He braced himself.

‘You-you-you . . .’ she stuttered.

‘You what, Doctor Lang?’

‘You BAD BISCUIT!’