Hawkins got out and locked the car, heading off along the high street at a brisk walk. Two minutes and thirty dispiriting shop fronts later, she arrived outside the small news agency.

She wandered in and began threading her way between overcrowded aisles towards the cash desk, almost knocking a stack of biscuits in lurid green boxes into a tower of lager multipacks. She failed to catch the lone shopkeeper’s eye, and was forced to join the queue of four other people in the narrow gangway.

Fortunately, just one other person entered while she was waiting, and promptly lost themselves in the humming forest of fridges at the back of the store, leaving Hawkins free to address the slightly overweight middle-aged man behind the desk.

‘Morning.’ He glanced up, reaching out in an apparently automatic gesture to take whatever goods his next customer held.

‘Hi.’ Hawkins shook the proffered hand, waiting for him to twig who she was, getting nothing in return but a slightly perplexed frown.

‘DCI Hawkins.’ She showed him her warrant card, recently liberated from a nettle patch under the stairs at the factory, watching realization break across his grey-stubbled features. ‘Sorry to call so early, Mr Chapman, but I believe my colleague mentioned that we’d be sending someone to speak with Sarah; take a statement. Make sure she’s OK.’

‘Oh. Oh, right.’ The shopkeeper released her hand. His eyes flicked self-consciously towards the customer now approaching the till with groceries. ‘Just bear with me, would you? I’m holding the fort on my own today. I’ll need to lock up.’

Hawkins stepped aside, letting the suited man with a fashionable haircut pay for his goods, trying not to tap her foot as he prevaricated over scratch cards and faffed with his wallet.

At last the man left, already engrossed in his phone. With the shop now deserted, the proprietor hung a cheery Back Soon sign inside the glass, and locked the door.

He turned to Hawkins, the concerned parent now showing through his affable shopkeeper veneer as he hovered, clearly not ready to take her through. ‘Look, I’m going out of my mind here. Your people dropped Sarah home pretty late last night. They wouldn’t say what’s happened, and she won’t even talk to me.’

They both looked up in response to a sharp rap on the main door. Outside, an elderly woman stood, tapping the glass with her walking stick.

‘Sorry.’ Chapman held up a hand. ‘Could you come back in half an hour?’

The old woman rolled her eyes and hobbled away.

Chapman led Hawkins towards the back of the shop, punched a code into the security panel and ushered her through into a chipboard-lined corridor with stairs leading up to the first floor.