He turned and pulled the door closed, lowering his voice. ‘I’d rather not have opened up this morning at all, but things have been tough lately, and we need the Christmas trade.’ He glanced upstairs. ‘I just want to know what the hell’s going on.’

‘That’s understandable, of course,’ Hawkins told him. ‘What I can say is that Sarah hasn’t been physically harmed, and she’s done nothing wrong, which is why she’s here. It’s also where she wanted to be.’ She watched the relief burst in Chapman’s eyes. ‘But I do have some questions, if you don’t mind.’

His expression pinched, defensive once more. ‘What about?’

‘How much do you know about your daughter’s … beliefs?’

The frown deepened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘This may sound a little odd, Mr Chapman, but is Sarah into anything … spiritual at all?’

‘Spiritual?’ The shopkeeper’s eyes searched the far wall for a few seconds before he looked back at her. ‘She used to attend church with my wife’s parents on a Sunday morning, but she hasn’t been for the last couple of years at least. Why?’

‘Was there a reason she stopped going?’

Chapman looked confused. ‘She’s eighteen. Teenagers aren’t interested in that stuff these days.’

‘What sort of church was it?’

‘Just the local C of E.’ He eyed her. ‘Does this have something to do with last night?’

‘I’ll explain what I can afterwards,’ Hawkins parried. ‘Have you noticed anything strange about her behaviour recently?’

Abruptly. ‘No. Nothing at all.’

‘All right.’ She motioned towards the stairs. ‘Can we head up?’

He moved past her and began to climb. ‘I can’t stay for long. Like I said, I’m single-manned.’

‘Actually,’ Hawkins followed him up the creaking wooden steps, ‘it might be easier for Sarah if I talk to her alone. Perhaps your wife could give you a hand in the shop.’

Chapman paused, still speaking quietly. ‘Sarah’s mother left a few months ago. It’s just the two of us now.’

‘Sorry.’

‘You weren’t to know.’ He turned and moved on, adding, ‘As long as Sarah’s comfortable, I’ll go back down and open up, but then I want to know what’s happened.’

They arrived on a small, unadorned landing with several closed doors. Chapman knocked gently on the nearest one. ‘It’s me, love. Can I come in?’

A muted answer from inside. ‘Why?’

‘There’s someone from the police here to see you.’

‘Oh.’ Brief silence. ‘OK.’

Chapman looked at Hawkins with an expression that said such animosity wasn’t unusual, and went in. They entered a darkened bedroom, Hawkins’ boots clicking on bare floorboards, rounding the door to see thin curtains moderating the gloomy light of day.