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Samantha emerged, shaken but still keeping it together.
    ‘I’ll go and check if all the other children have gone,’ she said, unnecessarily to Mariner as she crossed the hall and climbed the stairs. He watched as Mrs Barratt went to pick up her phone and spotted the newly installed recording device, her hand hovering in mid-air. He pushed open the door. ‘We have to track all the calls made from now on,’ he said.
    Mrs Barratt looked panicked. ‘Can I use my mobile?’
    ‘If you tell me who you’re calling.’
    ‘My husband.’

Chapter Four
    Mariner allowed Trudy Barratt some privacy, and as he watched her through the window, pacing her office and jabbering into the phone, her expression grim, Charlie Glover appeared at his side.
    ‘She’s jittery,’ Glover observed.
    ‘Wouldn’t you be? She’s responsible for other people’s children and she’s just lost one of them. The publicity could ruin her. She’s scared. Her reputation, business and livelihood are on the line.’
    As they watched, Trudy Barratt became increasingly animated, the phone conversation becoming heated. ‘She told me she wanted to speak to her husband. Do you get the impression he hasn’t taken it well?’ Mariner wondered aloud. He turned to Glover. ‘What did you need?’
    ‘Some of the staff are asking how long we’ll be, sir,’ Charlie Glover said. ‘They’ve got families at home, and some have got their own kids to collect.’
    Mariner nodded. ‘As long as we’ve got statements and contact details from all of them, then you can let them go. Warn them that we may need to get in touch with them over the course of the weekend though.’ Glover went to pass on the good news. Mariner allowed Trudy Barratt a further couple of minutes then knocked lightly on the door and, without waiting for an invitation, walked in.
    ‘I’ll call you back,’ Trudy Barratt said, decisively, and ended the call.
    Mariner waited expectantly. ‘My husband,’ she said, again.
    ‘He’s a partner in the business?’
    ‘Oh no. I just wanted him to know that I’d be late.’
    The call was more than that, but Mariner let it go.
    There was a light knock on the door and one of the girls brought in a baby in a car seat. The baby he’d met earlier, Ellie, was, by now, sucking strenuously on a pink dummy, dark eyes surveying all around her. It was after six.
    ‘Ellie is staying late,’ Mariner said. ‘Shouldn’t her parents have collected her by now?’
    Trudy Barratt remained loyal to her clientele. ‘We try to be flexible to accommodate parents’ needs,’ she said, tactfully.
    ‘It must make your life difficult.’
    ‘On the contrary, it’s what we’re here for.’ Trudy Barratt took the seat behind her desk.
    Mariner sat down on one of the plastic chairs opposite. ‘Samantha told us about the arrangement that you have with the hospital regarding the crèche. How exactly does that work?’
    ‘It’s quite simple. We undertake to keep open a certain number of places on particular days, up to a maximum of eight, for children of visiting consultants and so on. The crèches are advertised through the hospital and parents ring us and book their child for as many days as they would like.’
    ‘And what do you get for offering this service?’
    ‘The hospital pays us for the nursery places taken.’
    ‘Do you have to submit some kind of records to the hospital?’
    ‘Oh yes. The Trust needs to know that the service is being used and I like to be as transparent as possible.’
    ‘What form do they take?’
    ‘They’re fairly basic, just details of the child, name, address, date of birth.’ She pulled open a drawer. ‘I have one here.’ She handed Mariner a pre-printed form with a pink carbon backing. ‘I send the top sheet up to the hospital, and keep a copy on file here.’
    ‘At what point do you send the originals up to the hospital? ’
    ‘On a weekly basis as the bookings come in.’
    ‘And when did Emma O’Brien book