“I batted my eyelashes at the cute lad behind the till,” Rosie said, and displayed another bag from the passenger side. “He gave me a free apple pie and a burger with extra gherkins.”

“You have a real gift.” Jem settled back in the seat and entered her rest request on the RRV’s data terminal. She’d told Ryan she was happy to take her break off-base, which gave her twenty minutes to catch up on all Rosie’s gossip. “So, what do you know? What were you doing in the old mill?”

Rosie caught a drip of ice cream with her finger and wiped it off on a napkin already dirt-smudged and crumpled. She’d obviously given herself a cat lick, but she’d missed a grey streak on her cheek and the cobwebs stuck to her hair.

“Trying to find Kyle’s mates,” she said. “I found a few by the canal who knew him in passing, but I failed to track down Tahlia, who may have been his girlfriend for a short spell before she joined us on the Dark Side by dating Demi-Lee.”

“The plot thickens,” Jem said.

“Indeed it does. Tahlia had been crashing in the mill, but by all accounts she’s moved to somewhere splendid.” Rosie tapped her teeth with her spoon, deep in thought. “Which seems unlikely.”

Jem had only been to the mill once, but the prospect of spending a night there gave her the collywobbles. “Where the hell are Tahlia’s family in all of this? Does she have any, or is she in care?”

“They live on North Curzon. I think Steph will be paying them a visit in the not too distant. According to a very stoned lad, Tahlia’s dad kicked her out after her dalliance with Demi-Lee.”

“Poor kid,” Jem said. Not for the first time in her career, the phrase “there but by the grace” sprang to mind. She had responded to numerous 999 calls for looked-after children, most in their early teens, running away from their care homes, taking drugs, self-harming, or getting drunk. Sometimes they got into the wrong car with the wrong man. Oftentimes they did the same thing all over again, and she came to know the children by name. She turned up the car’s heating as goose pimples rose on her arms. “What about the local shelters and hostels? Is someone checking those?”

“As we speak.” Rosie flicked through her notebook. “Have you heard of one called Olly’s? A lad mentioned it, and I assumed I’d be able to get the address from comms, but they haven’t been able to find it.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. I’ll ask around, though.”

“Cheers. I’ll probably be on that tomorrow, unless Steph finds me another plum gig involving towpaths and dilapidated buildings.”