She led Sam Jones into a small living room. A thick, red plastic easel dominated the room. A piece of paper was attached. Sticky blue and green hand-prints were plastered all over the sheet. An adult, Sam presumed it would be the mother, had written Matthew’s name on it. There was a framed picture of two women–one of them Angie, the other presumably Donna, holding a little boy between them. The young women were dressed in what Sam saw as a uniform round here–ripped jeans, Doc Martens, blonde, spiky hair. It looked like a million years ago.

‘We had tickets for a Bros concert,’ Angie said, following Sam’s eyes to the pictures. ‘Donna ended up staying at home and I went with some bloke. She could never bear a moment away from Matthew. Cup of tea?’ she asked. Sam followed her into a clean, tidy kitchen, the walls decorated with more of Matthew’s art.

‘That kid is her life…’ muttered Angie, putting the tea bags down on the worktop, unable to continue with the simple task. ‘None of us can believe this has happened, you know? Why Matthew? God, I can’t believe it–it was my fault, all my fault…’ She broke down, sobbing, as the family liaison officer came into the kitchen.

‘Hi Sheila,’ said Sam. They knew each other well and didn’t bother to shake hands. Sheila Docherty took Angie by the shoulders and led her through to the living room, followed by Sam. She switched the television on and sat down. This was what Sam had come for. The superintendent wanted a detective to be close to the mother when the CCTV footage was broadcast to the public on the six o’clock news.

‘Angie,’ said Sam, ‘can you just tell me again what happened?’ She didn’t need to know, it was all well documented and Angie Bell had never wavered from her story. It wasn’t a story, though–it was the truth. This poor young woman wasn’t a suspect, even though she believed she was absolutely responsible for the child’s abduction. But Sam needed her to go through the story again–it would ground her before she saw the news bulletin and prepare her for hearing the story in someone else’s voice. It was also in the file that she seemed to need to talk it out, over and over again, as if there would be a different ending. There wouldn’t be. And, as time went on, everyone involved in the case became more and more sure exactly what the ending would be.