The newsagent lets out a sigh. He has the wiriness of a man who never sits, and the wariness of one who isn’t trusting. His quilted jacket’s fastened to the neck, and standing near the counter, Hagen understands why. Constant opening and closing of the door lets in the cold air, melding damp leaves and wet tarmac with the shop smells of newsprint and bruised apples.

‘Normally, of course I would be glad to help,’ says Jadoon. ‘But this is my busiest time of day. Maybe you could come back later?’ His eyes flicker to the CCTV monitor, where a woman out of sight from the counter is checking the price of canned spaghetti. ‘The schoolkids will be in soon, and I need eyes in the back of my head. They rob me blind, and – no offence – but you and your colleagues, you do very little to help businessmen like me.’

‘I’m sure you can appreciate this is an urgent matter,’ says Hagen. ‘A boy is missing, and we’re very concerned for his safety. Isn’t there someone who can help out for a few minutes?’

Jadoon mutters something in a language Hagen doesn’t know, and goes to a door behind the counter. He calls out a name, and when a woman answers, beckons Hagen forward, stepping back himself to allow his wife to take his place.

In the back room, Jadoon motions Hagen to an armchair, and sits down facing him. As Hagen takes out his notebook, Jadoon’s looking round him, into the shop.

‘Do you remember two boys who came in yesterday afternoon?’ asks Hagen. ‘Later than the usual time for the schoolkids, somewhere around five?’

Jadoon shrugs.

‘I must be honest with you, it’s hard for me to remember specifically. So many of them come in here, different sizes, different ages, same clothes.’

‘We have a statement from the boy who was with Evan who remembers a man who was in here at the same time. Bald head, a snake tattoo on his hand. Do you remember him?’

Jadoon considers.

‘Yes, I think I do. A big man. He bought milk.’

‘Do you know him? Have you seen him before?’

Jadoon looks doubtful. There’s a rush of noise from the shop, the chatter of the first of the schoolchildren.

‘I couldn’t say for sure. We get a lot of passing traffic, people who come in only once and then never again. Certainly he’s not what I would call a regular.’ Jadoon rises from his chair. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go. My wife won’t cope alone.’

‘Just a couple more questions,’ Hagen persists. ‘Was there anyone else here at the shop yesterday afternoon, anyone else who might have seen the boys?’

‘Yesterday?’ Jadoon shakes his head. ‘Not yesterday, no. I was here by myself.’