At first, Mr. Abney thought Yvonne brought back the wrong girl. The child she led into his office was wearing the same Oakham uniform Nell and Mae had been wearing, with a black and purple striped tie and small purple pin on her black blazer. But she was taller than Malcolm by three or four inches, didn't have the same pinched look about her, and was as fair as Malcolm was dark, her hair cascading past her waist. She was fixing a rainbow coloured butterfly hair clip as she came in and straightened herself once she saw Mr. Abney.

She strode purposefully passed Yvonne and over to Mr. Abney; she came to a stop in front of him and stuck out her hand, introducing herself, "Madeline Reed, how do you do?"

Mr. Abney glanced up at Yvonne, her arms crossed as she stood in the doorway, and exchanged an amused glance. A fond smirk crossed Yvonne's face as he took the hand of a twelve year old girl with an earnest look on her face and who only came up to his chin. "Pleasure to meet you Madeline; my name's Richard."

He released her hand and gestured to the chairs behind her. She turned on her heel and sat down on the chair closer to the door, tucking her hands under her thighs and swinging her legs back, and forth, in unison. She fixed her butterfly clip again, before continuing to swing her legs back and forth.

"I like your hair clip." Mr. Abney followed her over, fighting back a smile. He sat down opposite her on the sofa next to the door. As soon as he did so, Madeline stopped swinging her legs and clasped her hands neatly in her lap, her ankles crossed beneath the chair. She reminded Mr. Abney of someone running through stage instructions; very precise, and purposeful, and a little bit exaggerated. He settled himself onto the sofa opposite her, relaxing into the chair. Yvonne continued to hover in the doorway and leaned against the frame.

"You, you need to stop messing about with my family," Madeline said resolutely, before Mr. Abney could even open his mouth to say anything. She was staring him straight in the eye, her own blue ones wide and her mouth tightly sealed shut.

"Is, is that what you think I'm doing?" Mr. Abney cocked his head to the side. "Messing with your family?"

"You're trying to break us all up, aren't you?" she shot back stiffly. And then as though remembering something added quickly, "You want everyone to know our business when it's none of yours. Our business is our business, not your dirty laundry to air."

Mr. Abney could see the resemblance better now: their eyes were the same shade and shape, ringed by stubby black eyelashes; same aquiline nose that suited Madeline but had appeared too prominent on Malcolm's haggard face. But where Madeline was assertive, Malcolm was timid, and had avoided looking him in the eye.

"I see," Mr. Abney replied, looking round at Yvonne, still in the doorway.

"Claire comes," she told him, and to Madeline, "Would you like some hot chocolate, chaton?"

"Tea, if you please."

"Milk and sugar?"

"No, thank you. Oh, milk," Madeline added quickly, "Strong, with a good drop of milk."

Yvonne smiled and nodded, glancing over her shoulder as Ms. Phelan swept passed her.

"Hello," Ms. Phelan said smilingly, "Are you Madeline?"

Madeline had hopped up at her entrance and thrust her arm straight out. Ms. Phelan was mildly startled, but took it none the less. Yvonne said she'd see about Madeline's tea, and gently shut the door behind her.

"How do you do," Madeline said as she shook Ms. Phelan's hand. It had an over exaggerated quality of a child not yet figured out how to do it without shaking someone's arm off. Mr. Abney thought it was cute. "Madeline Reed."

"This is Claire Phelan, the office's legal aide," Mr. Abney told her, as he fetched his recorder from his desk. He placed it on the coffee table between all of them, and hit 'record'. "She's here to make sure this interview runs smoothly, alright? Make sure you feel comfortable."

Mr. Abney gave his usual spiel, to start the interview, pointed out Ms. Phelan's presence, and then asked Madeline to introduce herself.

"Madeline Ivy Reed, my birthday is the twentieth of November, twenty-one twenty-four." Every word she spoke was deliberate and assertive; she was playing with her fingernails. "My older brother is Malcolm Gordon Reed, whose birthday is the second of September, twenty-one twenty-three, and my elder sister is Meredith Elsie Reed, twenty-eight of August, twenty-one twenty."

"Thank you very much," Mr. Abney said.

"And did Ms. Autié ask if you were okay coming to speak to us?" Ms. Phelan sat next to Madeline, leaning on the arm rest of her chair as she spoke to her.

"I thought I had to speak to you," Madeline replied smartly. "You're forcing everyone to speak to you."

Ms. Phelan replied evenly, "You don't have to speak to us if you don't want to. Do you understand that?"

Madeline nodded, just once.

"We just want to have a chat with you about your brother and sister," Mr. Abney told her, "Some of the questions I'm going to ask might be a bit upsetting, and we have to talk about some uncomfortable things today but like Claire said, you don't have to answer any questions that are too difficult. Is that all right?"

"I understand," Madeline said primly.

"First things first: do you know why Malcolm is staying at your uncle's house at the minute?"

"Because Archie took him away," she said flatly, "When he wasn't meant to, and now," she took a deep breath, "And now it's causing all sorts of bother."

"Do you know why Archie took him away?"

"Because he's making a mountain out of a molehill."

"Really?"

"It's just a storm in a teacup."

Mr. Abney paused. "But do you know why Archie took him home with him?"

"I just told you."

"Okay," Mr. Abney said slowly, "Have you had a chat with Malcolm about it?"

"He wants to go back to school," she replied mechanically, "He, he misses his friends." She scrunched up her skirt in her fists, before seeming to realise and smoothed it out again.

"Right," Mr. Abney said evenly, "I think it might be a good idea to explain exactly why we're all so worried, okay Madeline?"

"I know why," Madeline insisted.

"We're very worried," Mr. Abney continued, "That someone is hurting Malcolm; and has been for a very long time. Did you know he had to go to hospital a few weeks ago? This was the day your uncle took him home."

"He didn't need to go, he was fine." It was said in a rush, but with a slight tremble in her voice.

"Who told you he was fine?"

"The Admiral and Granny."

"They told you Malcolm didn't really need to go to hospital?" Madeline nodded. "Did they tell you that Archie was making a mountain out of a molehill?"

"Um.."

"It's okay, Madeline," Mr. Abney said, "All I want is the truth, can you do that for me?"

"I am telling the truth!" Madeline leaned forward, her eyes round. "I am. I wouldn't lie."

"I know," Mr. Abney replied evenly, "I know you are; shall I tell you what we think happened? We know that Malcolm had an allergic reaction to some milk. He can't eat any dairy, can he?"

Madeline shook her head. "He falls ill."

"So, so that's what happened a couple of weeks ago, Malcolm had a very bad allergic reaction to milk, and Uncle Archie had to bring him to hospital, and the next day, Uncle Archie brought him in to me."

"Just for his hypersensitivities," Madeline said. The way she did reminded Mr. Abney of her Granny.

"And for lots of other reasons. But the problem is, we think that Meredith and her boyfriend Jasper forced Malcolm to drink it."

"Meredith would never do such a thing," Madeline quickly shot back.

"There was someone else who saw her do it," Mr. Abney told her.

"An attention-seeking liar."

"Your Uncle Archie seems to believe that Meredith made Malcolm do it."

"Malcolm does silly things with food sometimes," Madeline replied, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "He went a week without eating once."

That was a surprise. "Why would he do that?"

Madeline looked puzzled. "I'm not entirely sure; I think he was trying to prove that he could."

"Prove to whom?"

"The Admir –" Madeline quickly closed her mouth.

"Why would Malcolm want to prove to the Admiral that he could go a week without eating?" Mr. Abney asked her. "Madeline? Why did he want to prove that to the Admiral?"

But Madeline wouldn't answer. And Ms. Phelan suggested that they move on.

"Alright, let's talk about Meredith, shall we? See, Archie told me that your elder sister can be a bit mean and a bit rough with him sometimes, and I wanted to get your opinion: do you think your sister can be a little bit mean to your brother?"

Madeline bit her lip and didn't answer. Mr. Abney didn't say anything, only waited. They all started as the door opened and Yvonne entered with Madeline's tea; she'd picked the unicorn cup.

"Here you are," she said, handing it to Madeline, "No sugar, and a drop of milk."

"Much obliged," Madeline said, seemingly grateful for the distraction. She took a small sip as Yvonne left, throwing an encouraging smile Mr. Abney's way as she turned. He returned the smile as a silent thank you. He knew she had a giant mug of caffeine waiting for her in her own office. She was exhausted; she'd stayed in the office late last night, poring over the recordings of the Reeds' and Campbells' interviews, highlighting any discrepancies they would need ironed out. He could tell this one was grating on her. He decided to take her and Claire out for dinner that evening – make sure they ate, and then actually went home.

"So as I was saying," Mr. Abney continued as soon as Yvonne shut the door, "Can your sister ever be a bit mean to your brother?"

Madeline glanced down to the side, as though trying to remember something. "Malcolm is very shy boy, he needs her to assist him in school," she replied eventually. Mr. Abney met Ms. Phelan's eyes.

"Need her, um, how?"

"He has special needs," she said, "He needs extra looking after. He's rather difficult to look after, because, because he gets very upset rather easily and has the wildest imagination."

Mr. Abney nodded slowly. "Malcolm is easily upset, I see. Do you know what sorts of things upset him?"

"What sorts of things?" Madeline repeated. She was visibly struggling to find an answer. "He, um, he doesn't like when people… when they touch his drawings! No, he doesn't like that at all." She shook her head.

"Does he let you touch his drawings?" She replied yes. "What about when Meredith touches his pictures? Does he mind that?" She hesitated. "Madeline?" She wasn't going to answer. "Your Mum taught Malcolm to draw, didn't she?"

"Yes, she used to be a teacher. She stopped when Mer came along."

"Do you draw?"

"Oh, I used to but not anymore." She casually waved a hand, dismissing an old childish hobby. "I have other interests now."

Mr. Abney nodded. "Different interests as you get older, I suppose. Now, when I spoke to Malcolm he said that she rips up what he draws if your mother says that she likes it."

Madeline didn't say anything. "I've never seen her do that," she replied eventually.

Mr. Abney bit his bottom lip before asking gently, "Does your mother like what Malcolm draws?" A nod. "What does she say about some of the things you draw?"

"I don't draw anymore," she replied brusquely.

"Is that because of what your mother says about your drawings?" Madeline pressed her lips tightly together. "Malcolm told me that he won't show your parents his drawings anymore because your mother makes you and Meredith feel bad about it."

"Malcolm's good at drawing," she said with forced nonchalance, "He's quite talented."

"But is Malcolm correct?" Mr. Abney gently pressed, "Does your mother ever make you feel upset over the drawings?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "You can't be good at everything."

"That's, that's very true," Mr. Abney said softly, glancing at Ms. Phelan. "No one can be good at everything they try; but I'm asking about how it makes you feel."

Madeline looked round at Ms. Phelan in the chair beside her. "Do I have to answer that?"

"No," Ms. Phelan shook her head, "You don't have to answer anything you don't feel comfortable to." She looked up at Mr. Abney. "Move on perhaps, Richard."

Madeline glanced warily at Mr. Abney out of the corner of her eye.

"Of course, of course; but just to clarify: Meredith doesn't ever rip up Malcolm's pictures when she's cross with him?"

Madeline looked like she was fighting an internal battle. "He doesn't like those pictures," she said quickly.

"He doesn't like the ones Meredith rips up?"

"She's only helping him to clear out the clutter," Madeline said, "One wouldn't want to keep everything, or else there would be too much. Meredith is very helpful to Malcolm; I don't think he could get by without her."

Mr. Abney and Ms. Phelan exchanged another glance. She was quite strongly giving them the impression of having been coached by someone on what to say.

"Madeline, you said you had other interests? Could you tell me about some of them, perhaps?"

She was eager to change the subject and to his amusement started talking animatedly about how she was the president of her House's book club, and described to him how the imagery in Anne of Green Gables reflected the overarching theme of hope and new beginnings for the plucky orphan. She also went to the Junior Science Club, and started telling Mr. Abney all about the chemistry experiments on gas density they had been running for the last week. As she spoke, Mr. Abney could tell that she was largely regurgitating what she'd heard about imagery and about density, though she was certainly enthusiastic about it all. Along with Malcolm, she was on the chess team –

"And it's terribly annoying when Malcolm lets me win," she said, putting now empty teacup onto the coffee table, "He's probably one of the best in his year; I should know, we always play against one another."

"Is there anyone else that you like to play against?" Mr. Abney asked, holding the plate of Hobnobs out to her. She plucked one off the plate. "In the club, I, I mean?"

"Oh, I play against almost everyone," she replied breezily.

"And Malcolm?"

"Only me, really. Oh, and his online friends."

"Doesn't anyone want to play with him in the club?"

Madeline opened her mouth a couple of times like a goldfish. "He, um, we have the same friends."

"So you two spend quite some time together?"

"We play in the playground after school, and we look after the same little plot in the vegetable garden."

"You're both quite close in age, it must be nice to always have a pal around."

"We get along swimmingly," Madeline said with a smile and sounding as fond of that fact as her maternal grandmother.

"Is it nice to have your big brother looking after you?"

"I look after him," Madeline quickly corrected, with a look that said Mr. Abney was mad for suggesting otherwise.

"Callum said he wouldn't have any friends if, uh, if it wasn't for you."

"Callum likes to make up stories," Madeline replied stiffly, "He has a rather vivid imagination and likes to exaggerate."

Mr. Abney nodded slowly. "And how do the two of you get along with Meredith?"

"Oh, we all get along just wonderfully," Madeline said with a nervous laugh, "She's very attentive to us; always helps us with our homework; she takes us to the cinema some Fridays; she's a very good elder sister, all in all."

"Is she?" Mr. Abney asked, "Malcolm said she made fun of what he draws."

Madeline was visibly unhappy with the change back to the previous topic. "All siblings take the mickey sometimes. There's nothing unusual about that."

Mr. Abney said nothing for a moment, thinking things through. He leaned forward, resting once arm on his knees and said, "Madeline, are you being completely honest with me?"

"Of course I am," she said abruptly. "I have nothing to lie about."

"But the thing is, your cousins have all been telling me some very different stories. About Meredith, and your grandparents." Madeline's eyes went wide and she paled noticeably but she made no reply. "I can see you're nervous; can I ask you what you're afraid will happen if you tell me everything?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," she said automatically, "There's nothing to tell that will get my family in trouble."

"Right," Mr. Abney said, "Madeline, here's the thing: I've not just been speaking to your cousins, I've also been speaking with your uncles, and your Aunt Tessa, Aunt Sherry, and your mother's parents as well. They've all told me some of the things that Meredith has done to your brother, particularly your cousins; I've had a look at all the times Malcolm has been brought to the hospital – he's had a lot of injuries, hasn't he?"

"He's a very clumsy child," Madeline said shakily; her hands were screwed up into fists so tight that her knuckles had turned white.

"I know what Meredith has done," Mr. Abney told her gently, "I know that she and her friends are the ones hurting Malcolm; why don't you want to tell me what's going on? What did your grandparents tell you would happen if you spoke to me?"

Mr. Abney could see Madeline's chin beginning to wobble; her eyes were becoming very round and bright. "All I want to do is keep Malcolm safe; and you, and your sister, and all of your cousins. That's all, alright? But I need you to tell me what she's doing to him. I need your help to keep Malcolm safe."

Madeline opened her mouth to reply; instead she burst into tears.

Loud, messy tears, that caused her breath to hitch and wheeze as the tears spilled over her cheeks; she scrunched up her face and stared at her lap as her shoulders trembled and a couple of stray drops fell from her cheeks. She roughly wiped at her eyes and nose with her sleeve and continued to sob.

"Oh dear, it's all right." Ms. Phelan got up, and knelt next to Madeline, holding her hand and rubbing arm. Mr. Abney got up to fetch the box of tissues on his desk; he handed one to Madeline and put the box on the table in front of her within easy reach. Her face had become flushed and she loudly blew her nose.

"This is all very scary and confusing, I know," Mr. Abney said kindly as he sat down again, "It is so much to deal with; and what we want to do is to give your family the help that it needs, that's all we want to do."

"But you're going to send us away," Madeline howled.

"Send who away?" Ms. Phelan asked confused.

"Me and Mal and Mer," Madeline sniveled, looking at her, "And we're never going to see going to see our Mum and Dad again!"

"Who told you we were going to take you away from your parents?" Mr. Abney asked furrowing his brow in confusion.

Madeline hesitated before answering in a mumble, "Granny did."

"Madeline, we're not going to take you away from your parents," Ms. Phelan explained. Ugh, why didn't they extend the protection order to include her? Horrid woman. "Alright? We have no plans to do that at the moment."

"What our job is," Mr. Abney said, "Is to help families cope with any problems they're having; Meredith seems to get upset very easily and then take it out on Malcolm, am I right?" Madeline nodded miserably. "We just want to help her find better ways to cope when she gets angry; and we want to help you parents as well, not just take you away from them."

"We're going to do what we can to keep you all together, understand?" Ms. Phelan said, giving Madeline's hand a squeeze. "As much as that is possible, alright?"

More tears as Madeline nodded her head. "I don't want to go to jail, either," she blubbered.

Mr. Abney and Ms. Phelan exchanged another glance. "Why would you go to jail?" Ms. Phelan asked her bewildered.

"For lying!" she replied, "Perjury is illegal."

Mr. Abney repressed an annoyed sigh. "Did your Granny tell you that as well?" he asked softly. He repressed another one when Madeline nodded her head.

"You're not in trouble here, Madeline," Ms. Phelan said, "Not even a little bit. And nothing you tell us is going to get you into trouble – not a thing."

"You've not done anything wrong," Mr. Abney said, "And speaking to us, it isn't wrong either – like I already told you, all we want to do is to help you and your family. That's all, alright?"

It took a little while for Madeline to calm down, and assure her that no, she wasn't going to go to prison for lying to Mr. Abney and Ms. Phelan; no, she and her siblings weren't going to be taken away from their parents and never seen them or each other again; no, she wasn't going to be taken away from Malcolm, and he most certainly wasn't going to be locked up in a psychiatric hospital for damaged children for the rest of his natural life. In the meantime, Mr. Abney had asked Chris to get her some hot chocolate with marshmallows – she'd said that she would prefer that to another cup of tea. Chris did so, and found Madeline and Mr. Abney were playing a game of Connect Four, having decided to take a quick break. They started up a new game as Madeline fished out a mini-marshmallow with her finger and popped it into her mouth.

"Drat," Mr. Abney said, as Madeline blocked him off with a red counter. He placed another one in, trying to start a new row. "Do you ever play this game with Malcolm?"

"We play chess more," Madeline said, intent on the game, "And cards; I'm better at poker than he is, but he's better at Snap." Madeline placed her yellow counter in the frame and won.

"And you seem to be better than me at this." Mr. Abney smiled at her, "Another game?"

Madeline opened the latch and the counters clattered onto the table with some spilling onto the floor, and started dividing them up. "Meredith pushed him down the stairs once."

She said it in a mumble; she continued to separate the counters. "It was over Christmas when they came home from school."

"Was Malcolm badly hurt?"

"He landed funny on his ankle and broke it. And his wrist."

"Did you see her push him?" Madeline nodded. "Did you tell your parents?"

Madeline glanced up for a brief moment. "They didn't believe me; they never believe us. Meredith said it was just an accident."

"Sometimes it can be difficult for Mums and Dads to believe that they're children are doing something wrong," Mr. Abney said, stacking up the counters that Madeline pushed towards him, "And it can be difficult to convince them. But I believe you; I know that Malcolm did actually break his left ankle and right wrist in December two years ago. Do you remember why Meredith pushed him?"

"Dad took him and not her to lunch on Boxing Day."

"She was upset over not going with him?"

Madeline tipped her hot chocolate to her mouth and tried to get a glob of melted marshmallow with her tongue. "She was crying and screaming at Mum once Dad left and didn't stop until he came home. I just went to Aunt Corinne's house on my bike."

"Do you remember what she was saying?" Mr. Abney asked, putting a red counter next to the yellow one Madeline dropped in.

"Something about it not being fair." Madeline shrugged, "He used to take her; Archie brings Finlay, and Harold doesn't bring anyone."

"Is this lunch with his side of the family?" Madeline nodded. "So, she pushed him down the stairs because she was upset she wasn't going that year. Can I, um, can I ask you about something that Finlay told me happened in September?"

"Okay."

"Did Meredith and her friends tie Malcolm to goalposts and leave him there over night?"

"They took his clothes as well," Madeline said, "Freddie was showing everyone in the playground pictures on his phone the next day."

"Freddie Bardsley-Kemp?" Madeline confirmed the same, and Mr. Abney made a note on the legal pad beside him to ask DCI Green to get Freddie's phone, as well as his brother Jasper's and Meredith's. "Do you know why they decided to tie him up?"

Madeline shrugged a shoulder. "He won the Summer Art Contest, and they told Mum; she was really chuffed when we spoke to her on Sunday and Meredith was really annoyed afterwards. She ripped up his painting."

Madeline confirmed most of what they suspected to Meredith's handiwork as hers: beatings, allergic reactions, spreading rumours; Madeline eventually admitted that Meredith tries to keep her from playing with the day boarders, but she largely ignores her and focuses on Malcolm. They all focus on Malcolm.

"He used to be ill all the time," she said, having lost interest in Connect Four, and was doodling on some paper that Mr. Abney had left beside her. He had his own page, and was working on drawing a dog – or maybe it was a duck. "He used to have to wear a mask for his asthma for a few minutes every day and breath in the gas it was making when he was little, and Mum and Dad would make Meredith mind him so he would keep it on."

"And what would they do if he took it off?"

"Mum would tell Meredith off."

"And Dad?"

"He just put it back on him and would watch him instead."

That seemed to be their homelife: Mum would tell off and criticize Meredith; Dad would focus on trying to instill the values and discipline of a Naval Officer in Malcolm; and unless Madeline behaved like a perfect young lady, polite and proper, she would get very little attention at all. And even then, she was very pointedly told to ask her much brighter elder siblings for help with exams and homework, and when she did well, it didn't matter – Meredith was praised for being so good and caring towards her younger sibling, and wasn't Malcolm so very clever when it came to maths?

"When was this?"

"I don't remember; before he got an inhaler."

According to his medical records, he stopped using a nebulizer and started using an inhaler when he was eight. "Does Meredith ever take his inhaler?"

"No," she replied, colouring in her drawing.

"Does the Admiral?"

"All the time," Madeline said, "He makes him run laps of their area until he's beasted and then won't give it to him. But we swapped them out. Can I have the blue?" They swapped colours. "Thank you."

"Swapped what out, sorry?"

"Malcolm has one for everyday that's brown, and one for emergencies that's blue," Madeline explained, "We swapped the cannisters out, and give the Admiral the blue one when he asks for it – but it has the everyday medicine in it. I sneak him the proper medicine when they can't see us. If I didn't he'd have to go to hospital."

She was much more mature than Malcolm was, Mr. Abney thought to himself; quite articulate, but he had to admit that she seemed tired and still very scared and unsure that she was doing the right thing. Every so often, he had to reassure her that telling them about everything their sister did to him, and what their Grandfather did to all her cousins, was going to keep them all safe. She didn't seem to care about what happened to her grandparents; she actually seemed to relish the possibility of them both going to prison. Meredith, on the other hand –

"What's going to happen to her?" she asked fearfully, looking on the verge of tears again.

"Well," Mr. Abney began, sitting back on the sofa, "She's going to have to attend a special group, aimed at young people who get in trouble. We're also going to need to separate her from Malcolm for a little bit, so she might have to have to live there for a while as well."

"So she's going to jail too," Madeline said, her voice cracking.

"It's not prison," Mr. Abney explained soothingly, "It's called a Youth Rehabilitation Centre; there'll be more, more counsellors there, than guards."

Madeline wasn't mollified; it still sounded like prison to her. Mr. Abney then turned the conversation her Aunt Corinne, and Madeline said that she missed her, but she knew Malcolm missed her more; he'd cried every night for a month after she'd died and had barely eaten anything. It made it worse that Callum wouldn't let him hang about his friends anymore, and sometimes even helped the others in their year mock and bully him. Madeline said that she didn't get along with him anymore either, because of it.

"She always got me the birthday cake I wanted," Madeline said, "Mum used to just make all three of us a Victorian Sponge, but Corinne got me a unicorn cake last year. And she always got one that was pineapple flavoured for Malcolm and was a wicked shape – it was Spongebob's house. Meredith only ever gets the Victorian Sponge Mum makes, 'cause her birthday's over the summer holidays. She hasn't had a proper party with her friends in years because we moved the Bagan Datoh when she started secondary. Corinne wanted to throw her a birthday/back-to-school party, but Meredith wouldn't let her. She used to not let the Admiral tell us off. Her and Archie used to be the best, but he's just sad all the time now."

"You don't think he's getting on okay?" Mr. Abney asked, drawing some clouds above is duck/dog.

Madeline shook her head. "No, not really. I think he might need some of your help as well."

Well, Mr. Abney thought, making eye contact with Claire, he certainly wasn't the only one.