As soon as Samir left, Christine hurried into the kitchen to make tea that no one wanted. Keeping busy was one of her mantras even at the best of times, though; to insist that she sit down and deny her any distraction now would be tantamount to cruelty. Robin had watched her anxiety building as the minutes ticked by, her hunched shoulders and unblinking eyes an exact reflection of how she herself was feeling.

Time stretched. Without the restraint of Samir’s presence, she wanted to throw herself on Thomas and shake information out of her: Who’s leading this? How much experience do they have? How many cases like this have they handled? How many – if any – have they resolved successfully? It was taking every shred of self-discipline she had to keep a lid on it.

The boss had made some comment about liking them young.

He has sex with all the new girls.

‘We’ll organize a trace on the phones just in case,’ Samir had said. Just in case. In case Staverton changed his mind. Because otherwise, this wasn’t a kidnapping, he wasn’t asking for anything. I just told you: we’re square.

Up in the bathroom, Robin washed the sweat off her face, rinsed her mouth with Listerine to try to combat the taste of bile in her throat.

Lennie – her Lennie, her girl. Where was she? Were they still in Birmingham? The more she thought, the less likely it seemed. He knew he was the most wanted man in the city tonight – why would he stay?

But where would he go?

Eight o’clock came, then half past. More than four and a half hours since the bell had rung at St Saviour’s and Lennie had walked out to meet the nightmare of a lifetime. Four hours since the phone call and since then, nothing. Zip.

Her mobile rang, causing group alarm, but it was Adrian. He’d been at a site visit with clients, he said – had they found her? He listened in horrified silence as she told him what had happened. ‘Keep me posted,’ he said, shaken. ‘Not now, obviously, but when you can. Let me know.’

Dennis went outside for another cigarette, the tip a bright point in the dark beyond the window. His third so far, all three in plain sight of her mother, who hadn’t said a word.

The landline rang again. ‘Mum, do you want to get it?’

Christine shook her head. ‘No, you. I can’t.’

Thomas – she couldn’t call her Malia – stood by.

‘Robin, is that you? It’s me – Maggie. I’ve just finished having a bite with a friend and picked up a message from Alan Nuttall. What the hell’s going on?’