‘You crack me up, you do. Anyway, I can’t stand round here all day nattering, even if I might like to. Some of us got work to do.’

And with a wave, he’s gone.

Though she doesn’t expect it, he’s rattled her concentration. For some reason she now thinks she should make an effort, maybe get her nails done and book a blow-dry.

She’s taking out her phone to make the call when it rings. Ron Perdue.

‘Hi, Ron,’ she says. ‘How’s tricks?’

‘Not so bad. Me and June were just indulging in that favourite pastime of the idle retired, watching the lunchtime news.’

‘All right for some.’

‘I don’t know why we bother. It’s nothing but misfortune and corrupt politicians lying through their teeth, as always. But there’s just been an item on there I think you should know about. How’s the Ferrers case going?’

Naylor sits up in her chair.

‘Stalled. Why?’

‘Well, I’m ringing you because it’s a long way off your patch, and I think it’ll take a while before anyone makes a connection, if there is one. And it may not be connected, but it struck me there were some distinct similarities and that you could do with jumping on it while it’s red-hot.’

‘What are you talking about, Ron? What’s going on?’

‘Looks like the same MO to me, similar age, a bus stop not far from a school. Better get Googling, Naylor, Middlewich, Cheshire. There’s been another snatch.’

Déjà vu, again. Though it’s still weeks away, on the Ferrerses’ cul-de-sac Christmas appears to be in full swing, with sparkling trees in every window and the house-fronts festooned with LED lights and cheery Santas, waiting to be lit up when dusk falls. Even the Ferrers house seems to be in on the mood, with a wreath of holly and silver ribbon hanging on the door.

Major progress from last year, thinks Naylor. Christmas last year, they were looking at a life of never seeing Evan again.

Hagen knocks at the door, and it’s opened promptly by Claire – a different Claire again, still on her way up but definitely getting there: hair nicely cut, better clothes. She smiles uncertainly when she sees them on the doorstep.

‘Hello, Mrs Ferrers,’ says Hagen. ‘I’m sure you remember us, DS Hagen, DI Naylor.’

‘Of course,’ says Claire. ‘Come in.’

Naylor’s pleased to see the house looking better, too. There’s the smell of winter spices – cinnamon and cloves – from a reed diffuser, and the place looks clean and cared for, like it did the first night they arrived. That seems a long time ago.

Claire offers them coffee, which she and Hagen accept. While the kettle’s boiling, Naylor feels the need to apologise.