Bex was dressed in loose black clothing, and was large, making it even harder for her to navigate her way between all her stuff.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I have a lot of things. Come through to the kitchen if you want. But I can tell you now there’s no way that girl’s my daughter.’

We stepped carefully along the hallway and into a much lighter room at the back of the house. A dresser was heaving with old plates, jugs and a clutch of strange china dogs playing musical instruments. Kitchen worktops were covered in books, including what looked like art portfolios. Minimalist this was not.

Bex had prepared for our visit: three wooden kitchen chairs were clear, and she gestured towards them. ‘Sit down. Sorry it’s a mess. I collect odd things without meaning to.’

‘I’m the same with books,’ I said.

We sat, and Bex took the third chair, blinking as if she’d recently emerged from a dark place, which I supposed she had.

I asked her a couple of questions about the saxophone-playing china dogs, just to settle her down, and then got stuck in. Jai sat with his notebook, exuding calm.

‘Did you have a baby in 2000?’ I asked.

‘Er … yes, but it can’t be that girl. She couldn’t be more different from me. She’s beautiful and confident and slim and … she just can’t be mine.’

She said this, and yet I could still see in her a trace of the girl in Tony Nightingale’s photograph – beautiful, clear-skinned, wide-eyed. Admittedly the years hadn’t been kind. Her skin was rough and her features not clearly defined, almost as if they were out of focus or badly drawn. I said gently, ‘Could you confirm your child’s date of birth?’

‘Nineteenth of May 2000.’

‘Violet Armstrong was born on the nineteenth of May 2000 and her mother was Rebecca Smith.’

Bex shook her head and I could hear her breathing coming fast. ‘No, she can’t be. She’s too …’

‘Too what?’

And then Bex was sobbing. ‘Oh God, oh God, I never really thought … I tried to forget, but I could never stop thinking about her.’

I sat forward and let my breathing come faster to match hers. That way I could slowly bring her down. I usually get a feel pretty quickly whether they’re going to bond with me or Jai, and this one was mine. ‘It’s a very difficult situation,’ I said.

Bex let some tension go from her body, and blew her nose loudly on a tissue which looked too pre-loved for comfort. I grabbed a pack from my pocket and pushed them over the cluttered table.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m disgusting. It’s when people are nice I can’t cope. I didn’t expect you to be sympathetic. You’re the police.’