The young woman froze and looked at Clay as if she’d just materialised out of thin air. Clay showed the young woman her warrant card and she said, ‘Yes. Police. Of course. She’s dead? She’s definitely dead?’

‘This is DCI Eve Clay. DCI Clay, this is Cathy Jones, Annie’s best friend. They’ve been best friends since their first day in the reception class in St Austin’s, more than twenty years ago.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Clay as she computed the information about Cathy’s relationship to the victim. And that makes you beyond useful, she thought. ‘When did you last hear from Annie, Cathy?’

‘Six days ago. The day she went missing.’

‘Six days exactly?’ checked Clay as Annie’s father and Cathy sat close to each other on the sofa.

‘Thursday, 25 November,’ replied Cathy.

‘What time?’

Cathy glanced at Annie’s father, a silent plea for Clay to change direction.

‘How about you, Bobby?’ asked Clay, pulling him back from the grief that sucked him under. ‘When was the last time you saw or heard from Annie?’

‘Annie? Six days,’ said Bobby. ‘The same. The longest silence from her. I – we knew she was dead.’

‘You knew she was dead?’ echoed Clay.

The weak light of a winter’s day dissolved into deeper shadow as a cloud swallowed the pale sun.

‘We hoped for the best and prepared for the absolute worst…’

Clay pressed record on her iPhone.

‘She was the perfect daughter, from the moment she was born until the last time I saw her…’

In the same moment, Clay heard the click of the kettle as it turned itself off in the kitchen at the back of the house, and voices weaving through creaking floorboards above as Annie’s mother and her doctor walked towards the stairs.

‘We never had a moment’s trouble from her, not even when she was supposed to be difficult. There were no terrible twos. No awkward teens. Just that tattoo.’

‘That was my fault, Bobby. I got a tattoo and she copied me,’ said Cathy.

He appeared not to hear.

‘She was just… good, all the time… good as gold.’

‘Bobby, tell me about the last time you saw Annie?’

‘It was on Thursday morning. She came into the kitchen, running late for work, which wasn’t like her. She was carrying a small bag, not one she usually took to school. I asked her what was in the bag. She told me she had a parents’ evening after school finished and that she was going out afterwards with her colleagues. She didn’t normally go on nights out with her colleagues.’

The darkness of the day crept into his face.

‘She didn’t normally lie to us. When the head teacher called the next day to ask where Annie was…’ He turned to Cathy. ‘Do you know what she was up to?’