‘And you think it was Lorne?’

‘I’m sure it was.’

‘You didn’t see her?’

‘Just her feet. Wearing the same shoes as the ones that were next to her body. I saw those too, when they found her body. I take these things in.’

‘What time was this?’

‘A little before eight? It was quiet – the rush had finished. I’d say maybe seven thirty, seven forty-five?’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

Zoë and Ben exchanged glances. When Lorne had gone missing, the OIC – the officer in charge of the missing-persons case – had got historical cell site analysis on her phone, which revealed she’d had one phone conversation yesterday evening, with her friend – a call that finished at seven forty-five. That must be what Amy had overheard. Which gave them an accurate time for when Lorne was on the path.

‘Amy,’ Ben said, ‘did you hear what she was talking about?’

‘I heard one thing. Just one. She said, “Oh, God, I’ve had enough …”’

‘“Oh, God, I’ve had enough”?’

‘Yes.’

‘So she was upset?’

‘A bit fed up, maybe. But not crying or anything. Sad – but not scared.’

Ben wrote something down. ‘And she was definitely alone? You didn’t hear anyone else with her?’

‘No.’ Amy was clear. ‘She was alone.’

‘So she said, “Oh, God, I’ve had enough,” and then …’

‘Then she just walked on. Chink-chink-chink.’ Amy clenched the cigarette between her teeth, eyes screwed up against the smoke, and waved her hand back in the direction of the crime scene. ‘That way. Off to where it happened. I didn’t hear anything after that. Not until she turned up dead. Raped, too, I suppose. I mean, that’s what it’s usually about – men and the way they hate women.’