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Chapters (62)
  1. Title
  2. Copyright
  3. Contents
  4. About the Author
  5. About the Book
  6. Dedication
  7. Your Worst Nightmare
  8. ONE
  9. TWO
  10. THREE
  11. FOUR
  12. FIVE
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. EIGHT
  16. NINE
  17. The Answer to All Your Prayers
  18. TEN
  19. ELEVEN
  20. TWELVE
  21. THIRTEEN
  22. FOURTEEN
  23. FIFTEEN
  24. SIXTEEN
  25. SEVENTEEN
  26. EIGHTEEN
  27. NINETEEN
  28. TWENTY
  29. TWENTY-ONE
  30. TWENTY-TWO
  31. TWENTY-THREE
  32. TWENTY-FOUR
  33. TWENTY-FIVE
  34. TWENTY-SIX
  35. TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. TWENTY-NINE
  38. THIRTY
  39. THIRTY-ONE
  40. Somebody Else’s Child
  41. THIRTY-TWO
  42. THIRTY-THREE
  43. THIRTY-FOUR
  44. THIRTY-FIVE
  45. THIRTY-SIX
  46. THIRTY-SEVEN
  47. THIRTY-EIGHT
  48. THIRTY-NINE
  49. FORTY
  50. FORTY-ONE
  51. FORTY-TWO
  52. FORTY-THREE
  53. FORTY-FOUR
  54. FORTY-FIVE
  55. FORTY-SIX
  56. FORTY-SEVEN
  57. FORTY-EIGHT
  58. FORTY-NINE
  59. Sunlight on Water
  60. July
  61. September
  62. Acknowledgements

What good is shouting anyway? If they have boxes to tick, let them get on with it. Overhead, men are moving about, opening wardrobes, shifting furniture. A few moments ago, he heard the catch on the loft-hatch snap back and the rattle of the ladder descending. Now there’s a heavy foot on the lowest rung.

‘You’d be surprised how many missing kids are found at home. Under beds, in garages and sheds. It’s always the first place we look.’

The policewoman looks slightly embarrassed at the banality of what she’s just said.

Claire’s eyes drift to the window and the improbable scene outside, a jam of police cars and vans with satellite dishes and broadcaster logos on their sides. She’s holding an empty mug, and her hand is shaking. As she places the mug on a side table, she hears the click of Evan’s bedroom door opening, and sweet relief floods through her.

She starts to get to her feet, but the policewoman shakes her head sadly, and instead of Evan’s soft tread, there’s the sound of a hefty male in the room above.

Claire sinks back on to the sofa and feels the prick of fresh tears. As she fumbles for a tissue, a trio of polished TV presenters are laughing on the drive, and as she watches, one of them breaks away from the group, walks brazenly to the window and puts his face to the glass.

Noticing Claire’s startled expression, the policewoman crosses the room.

‘Let’s close this, shall we?’ she says, and lowers the blind.

The lounge is suddenly in twilight. The policewoman turns on a lamp.

In the attic, someone’s making their way cautiously across the ceiling beams.

As if I wouldn’t know if my own son were up there, thinks Matt.

‘Soon be done,’ says the policewoman. ‘Can I get you another cup of tea?’

At Ashridge police station, Hagen has asked DS Dallabrida to sit in. Dallabrida has a dangerous demeanour bred in a streetwise background, enhanced by his massive gym-junkie build from protein-packing and lifting weights. It’s a look which tends to encourage suspects to co-operate sooner rather than later. He closes the door behind them, still smiling at some uniform lads’ banter.

He and Hagen pull chairs up to the table, and Hagen opens up his file. Dallabrida switches on the tape, declares the date and time, and names those present in the room.

Mr Griffiths has been here a while now, alone with a cup of coffee and a promise he won’t be kept long. He called in, as requested, on his lunch hour, expecting to be back on the playing fields by two. He’s still wearing sweats and trainers, and faced with suits, ties and close haircuts – Dallabrida’s tailoring is almost suave – he feels somehow outranked.