Clay picked her car keys from her bag and, with heavy legs, headed for the door of the incident room, hoping that within the next hour she would be showered and asleep at her husband’s side.

She reached the door and the landline phone on her desk rang out.

Clay stopped. Should I? Or shouldn’t I? The temptation to ignore the ringing phone was immense but its insistence was enough to drag her back to her desk.

She picked up the receiver.

‘Eve, I’m so glad that I’ve caught you.’ It was Sergeant Harris, the custody sergeant. ‘I’ve got a woman in reception, she’s asking for you. She knows you’re the SIO on the Otterspool Promenade case.’ He raised his voice to normal volume. ‘Mrs Christie wants to report her daughter as missing.’

‘Has she been on an internet date?’

‘Yes, she has.’

‘Take her to Interview Suite 1, I’ll be down immediately.’

Minutes later, in Interview Suite 1, Clay took two chairs from behind the desk and placed them facing each other.

‘Sit down, please, Mrs Christie.’

The woman opposite Clay looked like all the blood had been drained from her veins.

‘Tell me what’s been going on?’ said Clay.

‘As I understand it, my daughter, Francesca, went out tonight on a date with a man she met on the internet, a man she’s never met before in real life. I didn’t know that she was visiting internet dating sites, and she lied to me about where she was going. She told me she was visiting her best friend. I learned from Bryony that Francesca had actually gone on a date. That’s about all I know. Her phone’s been turned off. She never turns her phone off. She’s got work in the morning. She never gets in later than eleven when she’s got work the next day.’

‘Where does Francesca work, Mrs Christie?’

‘Maguire Holdings on Allerton Road.’

Mrs Christie’s eyes were red and her face was a knot of intense anxiety.

‘Do you have a picture of her, Mrs Christie?’ Clay leaned in a little closer as Mrs Christie opened her shoulder bag and took out her iPhone. ‘The most recent one if possible, please.’

Mrs Christie swiped through the images on her phone. ‘This is the most recent one.’

Clay looked at the picture of Francesca Christie – blonde, slim, attractive, mid twenties – and shuddered inside.

‘Send all the pictures you have of her to me, Mrs Christie.’ Clay handed her a contact card. ‘Do you have her address book?’

‘It’s the family address book.’ Mrs Christie handed it to Clay.

‘She may have gone visiting someone on the way home.’

‘She wouldn’t just do that. It’s out of character.’