As I turn the alarm off, yesterday’s conversation with DCI Bob runs through my mind and I realise that I have nowhere to be. I slip the phone into my pyjama pocket and clamber back into the bed, rejoicing as the warmth envelops me once more.

I roll over and close my eyes, though my brain has whirred into motion, and once it starts there is no stopping it. I linger on the reason I am free to lie about and relax; it’s a ‘reward’ for doing my job. A reward. No-one else is enjoying a few days off for doing the job they are paid to do; he thinks you’re weak, chirps the devil on my shoulder.

Whatever Bob’s reasons, I don’t like it. I don’t like this freedom, especially when my time and energy could be harnessed elsewhere. Particularly, so close to the conclusion of the case.

I check my phone again and note that there is no communication from the station. Either they are treating me with a cordon sanitaire or, more likely, there hasn’t been any progress made.

I open my news app and am shocked to see DCI Bob’s face attached to the first story. I press on the article and find out that DCI Bob has released details of an arrest. It obviously refers to Rory, though my boss hasn’t mentioned his name, instead insisting that The Blood Ice Killer has been caught.

Having not heard anything from the station, I presume that this is a strategy to get the press off his back. It’s a risky one, as, if nothing happens soon, they’ll have to release Rory. There simply isn’t enough evidence to charge him and if they are forced to let him go, DCI Bob will be under all sorts of scrutiny.

I make a vow that I will have a productive day. But first, a phone call I should’ve made a week ago.

Dad sounds like he is trying to put on a brave face and hold it together, though he is failing miserably. The despair and deep-rooted sadness of my mum’s death last year is obvious in every word he utters.

He asks about my work and I tell him it is going well, though I neglect to tell him about my ‘holiday’. We discuss his ongoing DIY projects and speculate on the sex of Sarah’s baby, the prospect of becoming a grandfather seemingly a light at the end of the tunnel for him.

Before hanging up, I promise that I will visit tomorrow and he sounds cheered by this. When I finish the call, I lie back on the bed and sob. Dad’s now solitary life has really hit me between the eyes and I feel bad that I have prioritised the case over the needs of my family. Once I’ve sat up and wiped the tears off my face, I vow to make some changes.

I check Twitter and, even though news of Reuben Amaro’s death was trending for a few days, already it seems people have moved on. There is no mention yet of Ed’s disappearance, though I imagine DCI Bob is already busy drafting a speech for another press conference scheduled for later in the day.