‘They found them, didn’t they?’ she asked. ‘It was on the news.’

She had a ruddy white complexion, a square forehead and a beaky nose that must have come from her dad, and a big toothy mouth that must have come from somewhere completely different. When she smiled, which was rarely, she had dimples.

She was wearing slacks and a navy blue uniform shirt with Countrywide embroidered on the breast. Countrywide were a chain store I’d never heard of that provided all the things country folk needed: wellies – I presumed – organic pig feed, bear traps. The IIP check had revealed that Zoe worked full time as a sales assistant down the road at the local branch.

‘This is a related matter,’ I said, and she immediately tensed.

She hadn’t offered me a tea when she let me inside, which is always a bad sign. According to the PNC, she’d been sectioned under the Mental Health Act two years ago but released after the twenty-eight day psychiatric assessment. There were also a string of arrests and cautions for shoplifting and minor public order offences. Generally, people who’ve had to deal with the criminal justice system more than three times stop offering random police officers tea. But you can but hope.

‘Oh, yeah,’ said Zoe.

Sweat was starting to plaster her hair to her forehead, but she made no move to open the windows and let a breeze in. My neck began to prickle in sympathy. There was a smell like microwaved rice.

‘I’d like to talk about 2002,’ I said. ‘When you were eleven and ran away from home.’

‘Which time are you talking about?’ she asked.

‘The time in August,’ I said. ‘Did you run away a lot when you were a kid?’

‘Not before Mum ran off first,’ she said. ‘That was when I was nine.’

‘Were you trying to follow her?’ I asked.

She started and looked straight at me for the first time – her eyes were a beautiful hazel colour. Not only was I sure she didn’t get that from her dad, I was also pretty certain I’d seen them listed as blue in one of the reports.

‘Did you used to run away?’ she asked.

‘Everyone runs away at least once in their lives,’ I said.

‘Why did you?’ she asked intently, and as she did I felt a strange little flutter like the batting of moth’s wings on a window. A faint echo of the sensation I felt when somebody supernatural tried to influence me – and trust me, every single one I’ve met so far has tried it on at least once.

‘Why did I what?’ I asked, to buy time.

‘Run away,’ she said, and the flutter came again.