I woke first on Sunday morning just before seven. Ben lay sleeping beside me, no doubt exhausted from his extremely late night and so I lifted Kate from her cot and made my way into the living room in order to give him peace. Pamela's bedroom door was closed when I passed and, once in the kitchen, I put Kate into her highchair and set about making her some toast for breakfast. Although I thrived on busy family life, I also enjoyed those times when it was just Kate and I, the only noise being her babbling at me. It was our special time together and I cherished it, having thought for so long that I would never get to experience it.

Once she was happily playing with the buttered soldiers, I set about making breakfast for the rest of us, deciding that we could use something a bit special and therefore selecting to make pancakes topped with crispy bacon and syrup. It was a favourite of Pamela's and though I knew that, by rights, I should be angry with her as opposed to pandering to her, I felt that it couldn't hurt in the circumstances. As I was placing the bacon in the pan, Kate let out a happy squeal and I turned to see Pamela standing the kitchen doorway, watching me apprehensively. Dressed in faded pink pyjamas and fluffy slippers, she looked far younger than her years.

"Morning," I greeted her cautiously.

"Morning," she replied quietly. "What are you making?"

"Pancakes and bacon. Are you hungry?"

"Starving. Can I help?"

"You could lay the table for me if you don't mind." I watched as she took cutlery from the drawer and moved over to the table, carefully placing it at three equidistant points before turning back to look at me again.

"Where's Dad?"

"Still sleeping."

"I…uh…" she paused and shuffled slightly from foot to foot. "I owe you an apology…for what I said last night. I…I shouldn't have called you a slut. I'm sorry."

"That's all right," I replied after a moment, turning the bacon over with the tongs.

She didn't say anything for a long moment. "I thought you'd be angrier."

"Would you prefer if I was?"

"No…"

I turned to look at her again, deciding to seize the bull by the horns as it were, primarily because we were alone together. "You know Pam…something must have made you say it. It must be something that's in your head." She looked down at the ground. "You obviously have some idea that my behaviour at one time or another, merits me being given that label. Do you want to tell me about that?"

"It's just…" she nudged the carpet with her foot. "I don't know, it's…"

"Spit it out," I turned the gas off under the bacon and started piling it on top of the pancakes.

"I mean…you left Dad…us…just like that and went to London and I guess…I guess I just always wondered if, you know, if…well…"

"If there was anyone else?" She nodded. "There was no-one else, not like your dad, if that's what you mean."

"I mean…" she paused again, her cheeks pinking slightly. "You were drinking a lot and I know that when you get drunk…things can happen and…you told us when you came back that you had been lonely and…and I know that things were said when you gave evidence against your husband…"

Her last phrase brought me up slightly short and I couldn't help thinking back to that terrible time when I had testified against Edward and had to listen to and answer questions about our sex life. Even back then, before London had ever happened, I had worried about what all of that evidence had made me look like and, if I was being honest, it was something I wasn't quite yet past. I paused, weighing up the wisdom of what I might or might not say next and decided, for better or worse, that honesty was in all likelihood the best policy. If Ben didn't like that, then I would deal with that later. "When I went to London, your dad and I were separated. And that was my doing, I know, but…yes, I was very lonely, and I was drinking too much and…yes, I did sleep with other men." Her eyes widened. "And I regret that, very much. But it wasn't done to hurt your dad…I did it to hurt myself and, hurting myself…well…that was part of the reason that I needed treatment. And, to kind of answer the question that you posed last night, I was tested when I arrived at the clinic and I hadn't contracted anything. Not that I had expected to because, despite everything, I was always careful."

I took a breath, surprised by how relieved I felt at having said what I had. It was the first time anything surrounding my extra-curricular activities in London had ever been brought up outside of therapy and a part of me was glad I had felt comfortable enough to say it.

"As far as what happened at the trial goes, a lot of what my husband did to me was wrong, but there was nothing wrong with the relationship, the physical relationship, I had with him before all of that started. Sex…with someone you love, someone you care about as I did at that time, isn't anything to be ashamed of." I held her gaze, hoping that I was convincing her more than I felt I was convincing myself.

"Wow," Pamela said softly. "I didn't think…I mean, I thought you would just tell me to mind my own business."

"Well, it isn't really your business," I replied, turning back to the breakfast, "but if it's going to be an issue between us then I think it's better that we talk about it, don't you?" She nodded. "So, if you think that what I've told you means that I was, or am, a slut…then I guess it's your right to think that." Lifting the plates, I carried them through to the table.

"I don't think that. I guess…" she paused again, "being with Andrew...I guess it's just made me think a bit, that's all. I can't imagine having sex with anyone else."

I couldn't help the smile that crept across my face at her words. "Well, that's lovely if you think that. But if you do end up being with someone else someday, that definitely doesn't make you a slut."

"What are we talking about?"

We both turned to see Ben standing at the bedroom door still in his own pyjamas, his housecoat knotted around his waist. He looked at me, then Pamela then back at me again and I knew he had heard at least some of what I had said.

"I was just talking to Pam about what she said about me last night," I replied, lifting Kate out of her highchair and putting her into the bouncer next to the table. When I met his gaze again, he looked concerned. "It's fine, I think we've managed to straighten a few things out."

Pamela turned back to the kitchen to switch on the coffee pot and he came up close beside me. "What did you tell her?"

"The truth. I told her that I had been with other men when I was in London but that we weren't together at the time and that if she wants to think that makes me a slut, then that's up to her." He looked slightly shocked and I shook my head. "There's no point in having some kind of undercurrent going on all the time. I'd rather be honest, wouldn't you?"

Before he could reply, Pamela came back out of the kitchen and, once the coffee had brewed, we sat down at the table to eat. The conversation turned to generalities, but I could tell there was still an underlying tension between father and daughter.

"I…uh…" Ben started and then stopped. "I think we should talk about some other things that were said last night." Pamela looked at him. "In addition to calling me an asshole…"

"I apologised for that," she said hurriedly.

"I know, but you also mentioned something else that has clearly been bothering you. You said that I was responsible for a witness in a case being killed." Pamela ducked her head. "Is that something you want to talk about?"

"Is that something you want to talk about?" she asked.

Ben let out a long sigh and then took a mouthful of coffee. I could feel anxiety emanating from him in waves, the way it always did when the subject was raised and I knew that it was because, deep down, he still blamed himself. "I had a case shortly before I left the DA's office where a man was murdered by being pushed into the traffic. It turned out, that someone connected to the murder, the man who eventually stood trial, was the business partner of one of my witnesses. The man who committed the murder had connections to the Russian mob and to her business partner and she had seen the murderer in her partner's office the night before it happened." He paused. "I wanted her to testify to what she had seen but…she was afraid of what might happen to her, so she lied in court and said that she hadn't seen him."

"So…what did you do?" Pamela asked when he didn't continue.

He lifted his head and met my gaze briefly before looking at her again. "I told her that if she testified then she would be given witness protection and if she didn't testify, then I would prosecute her and she would go to jail for a long time…and that she would never be safe." He paused again. "And that threat convinced her to testify and her business partner was convicted. And, after the trial, when she was being moved into protective custody…she was shot and killed."

No-one said anything for a long moment, and I held my breath, hoping that Pamela would say what I wanted her to, what I knew Ben wanted her to.

"But how was that your fault?" she asked. "You didn't kill her."

"No, but if I had never threatened to prosecute her, if I had just kept her out of it, then she would most likely still be alive today." He looked at me and I could see the pain in his eyes. "And I found that hard to take, so that's why I resigned when I did."

Pamela looked at me quickly, "And because Evelyn left."

Ben looked at me again, "Yes, and because Evelyn left."

I looked down at my plate, knowing that he wasn't chastising me, no more than I was still able to chastise myself, but wishing that I had been there for him at the time when it mattered instead of making things ten times worse by fleeing.

"I remember us talking about it," Pamela said. "Peter brought it up one day just after you resigned but…you didn't really want to talk about it."

"No, well it's not something that I like to revisit." He took another mouthful of coffee. "So, I'm interested to know why you felt you had to bring it up."

"Well, it was Andrew who mentioned it…"

"Andrew?"

She nodded "He'd been doing some reading up about you, like he said at dinner, and….and he mentioned it to me. I think he thought that I might know something about it. I'm sorry that I said anything about it though, I didn't mean…well I guess I did mean to say it to upset you but…" she looked down at her plate. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"It's ok," he said, after a brief silence. "In future, I'd prefer you ask me things rather than throwing accusations at me, at us. Does that sound fair?" She nodded. "Good."

We finished eating and Pamela then excused herself to go for a shower, get dressed and start her homework, leaving Ben and I alone to tidy up the debris of breakfast. For a long moment, he didn't say anything to me, the only sound being the clicking of crockery and the running of water as we moved around each other in a practiced dance that only living together could perfect.

"Andrew mentioned it," he said finally.

"I suppose if he has been doing some research on you, on us…"

"Why though?" he turned to look at me. "Why would he be reading up on either of us?"

"Because you're his girlfriend's father and, perhaps, he wanted to impress you."

"By talking to my daughter about Ann Madsen? You think that's something that's meant to impress me?" he closed a cupboard door with slightly more ferocity than I had expected and I paused in what I was doing, taking a deep breath before I spoke again.

"The case clearly still bothers you…"

"Of course it still bothers me. Going to her funeral didn't help and even though I'm grateful you came to her grave with me that one time, I still…" he trailed off and I put my hand on his arm.

"I know that I've said this before, Ben, and you haven't been particularly willing to hear it, but I'm going to say it again anyway." He looked at me. "It really might help for you to talk to someone about it." I expected him to shake his head, to say that wasn't an option, to find any excuse to label my suggestion as ludicrous, but instead he said nothing for a long moment and simply turned the cup he was holding over and over in his hands.

"Maybe you're right," he said finally. "Maybe it would be good to talk to someone, about a lot of things, not just Ann."

To say I was surprised by his response was an understatement. In the aftermath of my being shot and losing the baby I had always felt that he would have benefited from some form of therapy, even though, at the time, I was already on my way to sabotaging myself, I wasn't blind enough not to be able to see his suffering, particularly his continued belief that he had let me down on so many occasions and been unable to protect me.

"Maybe you could ask Liz to recommend someone," I said. "Maybe you could ask her today when you call to tell Mike that Pamela came home."

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows, "Is that your way of telling me you think I owe Mike an apology?"

"I think it's only fair that you keep him up to speed. After all, he did come all the way over here on a Saturday night because you had it in your head that Pam was mixed up in something serious."

His expression darkened again, "I'm still not convinced that she isn't."

"Then ask her. This morning has been about honesty, so why not just ask her if Andrew is related to Philip Swann?"

"I asked her last night if he talked about his father and she said no. She doesn't know anything." He shook his head in frustration. "My best bet would be to ask Andrew myself."

"I'm not sure that's a very good idea…"

"Why not? It would put an end to all this, one way or the other."

The ringing of the phone put paid to anything further I might have had to say on the subject, and I carried on clearing up whilst he went to answer it. I was still slightly stunned that he had agreed that some form of therapy would be a good idea and I didn't want to push too hard on other matters.

"That was Detective Bannerman," he said, coming back into the kitchen. "He said he's got some information on the phone call and he wants to come over to talk to us about it."

XXXX

Bannerman didn't look altogether thrilled at the fact that he was working on a Sunday and his greeting when he came into the apartment had a layer of frost on it, but we sat down on the couch and I offered him coffee, which he declined, before opening his notebook.

"We checked the luds on your office phone," he said, looking briefly at me. "The call that purportedly came from your daughter's daycare was traced to a payphone upstate in Clinton County. Know anyone that lives up there?"

I shook my head, "No, not that I know of."

"Unfortunately, there's no cameras anywhere near the phone so we can't obtain any video evidence to try and identify who it was. It's in a pretty isolated area." He paused. "You absolutely didn't recognise the voice on the phone?"

"No, I didn't." He sighed heavily. "So, what now?"

"There really is very little more we can do. No witnesses, no suspects, no recording of the call…" he looked at Ben, slightly defiantly, as though he knew that, perhaps, strings had been pulled. "If you have any ideas, I'd be glad to hear them."

Ben clenched his jaw before responding. "My wife said that there have been some hang ups to our phone here."

Bannerman looked at me. "When was this?"

"Friday," I replied. "It happened a couple of times, no message left or when I answered, no-one was there. I might not have thought anything of it if it hadn't been for what happened."

"Well…we could check the luds on your phone, see if there's any pattern. If one of them came from the same payphone, I guess that would be something." He made a note in his pad and then stood up. "I'm sorry for taking up your time on a Sunday."

"Thank you, Detective," Ben said, extending his hand. "We appreciate it."

A thought suddenly entered my head, "Detective?" He turned from the door to look at me again. "Clinton County's a fairly big area and you said the payphone in question was in an isolated area?" He nodded. "Which part? Which town?"

"It was on the outskirts of Dannemora."

"Wait…" I said, and he turned back again, unable to hide the impatient look that crossed his face. "I got a letter last week and it was postmarked Clinton County. There was no message, just a copy of an article about me that had been in the newspaper."

He frowned, "Which paper?"

"The Ledger."

"Did you keep the article, maybe the envelope?"

"No," I replied, suddenly feeling frustrated with myself. "I already had a copy of the article myself, so I threw the new one and the envelope away. It just…it just came to me there." I looked at Ben. "Maybe there's a connection?"

"It's possible," Bannerman nodded. "Have there been any other letters?"

"No…well, actually…" I hurried over to the drawer in the corner and, reaching in, pulled out the letter I had received the other day. "This came for me. It wasn't signed or anything." I passed it to him and watched as he read over the words.

"Dear Mrs Stone, I just wanted to say what a huge fan of yours I am. I can't wait to meet you at the ball next month. Best wishes." He looked at me again. "That's it?"

"Well they also enclosed one of our pins, but there was nothing to suggest who sent it."

"You've no idea who this could be from?"

"No."

"What's this ball they're referencing?"

"Women In Need are hosting a charity fundraiser next month at the Plaza," I replied. "We've sold hundreds of tickets."

"Have you kept any kind of list as to who's purchased them?"

"No, we've just been trying to sell as many as possible, you know, family, friends, friends of friends…" I trailed off, suddenly realising it might have been wise to have kept track after all.

"What about the envelope this came in?"

"I threw it away, but it should still be in the trash…" I hurried into the kitchen and opened the bin. It was half-full and, somewhere near the bottom, I found what I was looking for. Lifting it out, I turned it over in my hand and saw the faint stamp of the postmark. "Clinton County," I said, handing it over to him. "I didn't…I didn't notice that before…" A strange feeling started in my stomach and I looked at Ben who instinctively came over and slid his arm around my waist.

"So, it's possible these all came from the same person," Bannerman mused. "Do you mind if I keep these?" I shook my head. "Thank you for your time. I'll be in touch as soon as I have anything else."

As Ben showed him out, I sat down heavily on the couch, feeling my head swim slightly at the revelation. I had assumed each letter, each phone call, was unconnected and yet…Clinton County. What was so special about that place? Why would anyone in that area be concerned about me or my family, enough to pretend that my daughter was ill enough to be taken to hospital?

"Are you all right?" Ben asked, sitting down beside me. "You're as white as a sheet."

"I guess I'm just a little freaked out by all this," I replied. "The way it all seems so…so planned."

"If they're connected."

"You don't think they are?"

"I think we need to try and not jump to any conclusions," he said. "It could just be a huge coincidence."

"You don't believe that any more than I do," I shivered slightly and then moved to pick up Kate who had been happily playing on the floor at our feet. "But I don't know anyone in Clinton County and, even if I did, why would they be interested in my life here?"

Ben didn't say anything for a long moment. "You might need to think about who you do know up there." He looked at me meaningfully. "Really think about who you might know."

"What are you talking about?" I frowned. "I already said that I don't…"

"Where did he say the call originated from?"

"Dannemora."

"Right. Dannemora."

For a split second, I had no idea what he was trying to get at and then it suddenly became clear and oh so obvious.

Dannemora.

Clinton County Correctional Facility.