‘Well, it would have been a long time ago. When you were at school.’

An image of a skinny, tall girl with long dark hair, which she always wore hung around her face as if she were trying to hide herself, came to mind. She kept herself to herself. She never really showed an interest in joining in with the rest of us, always happier to have her head stuck in a book. Bookworm – that’s what we called her. If she was who I was thinking of.

‘She wouldn’t have been in my friendship group, but I think we shared a few classes,’ I said. ‘I haven’t seen her since school. Is she okay? Has something happened to her?’

DI Bradley coughed just as Beth walked in with a tray laden with mugs, milk, sugar and a plate of chocolate biscuits. Constable King followed her in, nodding to her colleague.

‘Beth, would you mind keeping your sister occupied for a bit? Just while I speak to your mum,’ she said.

I saw the reluctance to leave in my daughter’s eyes but she turned and left anyway. Constable King sat down opposite me. I thought about lifting a mug, my mouth had gone dry, but I was afraid my hands would shake too much and I’d spill it.

‘Laura died two years ago,’ DI Bradley said. ‘She was married, called Laura O’Neill then, and she left two young children. A son and a daughter.’

Although she meant very little to me, my heart sank at the news. She was too young, just like Clare. And those poor children, left without a mother. But I still didn’t see what relevance it had to Clare’s case. Surely if she’d been murdered, it would have made the headlines back then? I’d have heard about it.

‘What happened to her?’ I asked. ‘Was she ill? I don’t understand what this has to do with anything.’

He shook his head, rubbed the stubble on his chin. He looked tired; I imagined the investigation was taking its toll on him.

‘Laura took her own life. She was a troubled individual, it seems.’

I was still confused. Tried to cast my mind back more than twenty years to remember her. Had she left after fifth form? Gone on elsewhere? I couldn’t think straight.

‘Five deliveries were made of the forget-me-nots wrapped in black ribbon on Saturday. As you know, one was left at the roadside where Clare was found. You received one, as did Julie Cosgrove and the Taylors. Both yours and Julie’s had rhymes, which we can link back to your schooldays. Two others, those left at the roadside and those received by the Taylor family, contained cryptic messages, too.’ He took a breath. ‘The fifth delivery was made to a Mrs Elizabeth O’Loughlin, Laura’s mother. It contained a note referencing her daughter.’