Ridley stood in his office doorway leaning against the frame, arms folded, unblinking. He was like one of those paintings whose eyes follow you round the room. Since this investigation began, he had mainly communicated with Jack via voicemail—which Ridley hated. Jack knew that by the time he’d finished speaking, he’d need a damn good excuse for missing yet another one of Ridley’s phone calls yesterday—and “I was in Pentonville, without your clearance, asking Tony Fisher about my birth dad” definitely wouldn’t cut it. It was a good job he was now redeeming himself by having solid leads on Julia and Angela.

“It seems Julia kept a low profile running a children’s home. Most of the kids she cares for are in trouble with one or both sides of the law, so she doesn’t advertise what she does. She registered as a safe house with the Manchester force, and she takes in the kids of parents who choose rehab programs instead of prison. And Angela Dunn got married, but didn’t change her name. I have addresses for both of them now.”

Behind Jack, the two evidence boards were almost full. They spanned 1984 to 2019, and the face of Tony Fisher had been added since the last time Ridley was in the office.

“Good work, Jack. And I’m glad you weren’t injured when Tony Fisher attacked you.”

Jack felt his face flush. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of concern on Laura’s face, but he didn’t take his eyes off Ridley. Jack couldn’t believe that Ridley knew where he’d been all along and had never said a word. Within seconds, it became clear that he wasn’t going to elaborate—he just wanted Jack to know that nothing got past him.

As Jack’s face slowly cooled down, he continued.

“You requested that I find out more about the Witheys, sir. Tony knew them all back in the day.”

He told the squad room about Shirley and Greg, and how he’d decided that neither was of great relevance to this investigation. He also told them that Audrey Withey might well have known all the big players vicariously through her children, and that she probably couldn’t be trusted.

Ridley waited until Jack had finished.

“Remember, Audrey must be kept in the dark about the corpse until a positive ID has been made. Now, write up all your notes from your visit with Tony Fisher, before you head off to Chester to interview Julia Lawson.”

Sam, who’d just been delivered to Julia by the police and a social worker, was eight years old, with a face that bore witness to a lifetime of horrors. In his soul, he was already a man—a hardened, street-smart, thick-skinned, scowling man. His fists were clenched, his shoulders were tight and his jaw was pushed forward. He was fearless as he stood there, fully prepared to be slapped or punched or locked in a cupboard. What Sam was not prepared for was . . . Julia.