There was another reason for his frustration, too. Some bright spark in management had taken to inviting Martin’s family to these briefings, amongst them Sylvia, the mother of the missing boy. Even in the airconditioned room, her soft face glowed red in the heat. It lent the impression that she was on the verge of collapse, much as she had done on the second day of the search when they had to radio in the helicopter to transport her to hospital. After that, Arthur had barred her from going out again.

What the presence of the family had done was turn the briefings into formal affairs, everyone wary of what they said and how they said it in case it was deemed too negative. Words were adjusted to offer hope rather than state reality, each fruitless day in the wilderness sold as more area covered. The emotional attachment that they had brought had initially succeeded in driving the volunteers forward but now it was becoming a burden. Chandler was feeling more counsellor than policeman, concerned with the family’s welfare as much as overseeing the search’s progress.

Today, if anything, was worse. As if dealing with the tortured emotions of the parents wasn’t hard enough, Arthur had dragged his remaining son along. Twelve years old and dropped into an alien landscape to battle with the rest of the group, his eyes were glassy and as wide as saucers, but Chandler could see that he was determined to make a difference, a stubbornness he no doubt inherited from his father – and brother.

As the group prepared to set off Arthur offered his morning prayer, red rings still evident around his eyes from the tearful interview on television last night that Chandler had watched after tucking an exhausted Teri into bed. The passion and hurt Arthur had displayed had turned the localized search for his eldest son into a national news story, resulting in Chandler being hounded by reporters at the station and the base camp this morning. They had been warned by HQ to stay silent about progress and to let those at the top act as the mouthpieces but Chandler didn’t need to be told; he distrusted vultures who fed on human misery so he passed through the forest of cameras and microphones silently. If it hadn’t been for the national attention and crippling fear of missing out on a scoop, none of them would have cared about the family’s distress. And when the bones had been picked clean and they caught the whiff of blood on the wind, they would fly away again, hunting for their next victim.