‘When I got up this morning I went to Alice’s room. I thought I should apologise, drain some of the poison from the air. She wasn’t there. Her bed looked like it had been slept in though that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She never makes it. Sean and Eileen say they didn’t see her last night. Too busy getting pissed.’

‘You’ve tried ringing her?’

A tiny nod. ‘Yes, several times. Her phone is going straight to voicemail, like it’s switched off.’ Her frown deepened. ‘Why do you want to talk to her? Oh my god, do you think she had something to do with Frankie?’

Patrick dodged the question. ‘Where are Sean and Eileen now?’

‘Eileen’s gone out somewhere and Sean is in Alice’s room “looking for clues”.’ She made air quotation marks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Patrick was about to ask Helen to fetch her husband when he heard footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Sean Philips appeared in the doorway. His sandy hair stuck up above his round, pale face in clumps. He blinked at Patrick.

‘Detective.’ Sean glanced at his wife who sat staring straight ahead. ‘Have you got news about Frankie?’

‘I’m afraid not yet. Would you mind taking a seat?’

Sean sat beside Helen and tried to take her hand. She pulled hers away like his was covered in slime. He did look damp and sweaty, Patrick thought, his skin resembling wet putty. Patrick had also noticed that Sean had buttoned his shirt incorrectly so there was an extra inch of shirt at the bottom on one side. Like his wife, Sean Philips was falling apart, though the husband was making a doomed effort not to show it.

Patrick cleared his throat. ‘Firstly, I wanted to assure you that we are still doing everything possible to find Frankie and in the light of what’s happened in the last twenty-four hours we’re going over everything again from the beginning. I need to ask you some more questions about the night she disappeared.’

‘We’ve told you everything we know already,’ Sean said.

‘I’m sure, but—’

Patrick’s words were interrupted by a sharp intake of breath from Helen. Staring intently at the TV, she grabbed the remote and turned up the volume, as Patrick turned round to see what had made her gasp.

Liam’s parents, Zoe and Keith McConnell, were on the news channel. There was a shot of them standing in their substantial front garden, the car from which Liam had been taken in the background, hugging their son tightly and beaming at the cameras. Neither of them looked like they would ever want to let go of him again, and Patrick could imagine Liam’s future – his parents never letting him out of their sight, hovering over him day and night, smothering him with love and concern. But he was safe; that was what mattered.