Patrick assured her that he would.

‘So what are we going to do if it’s not Alice and Larry?’ Carmella asked as they stepped into the building.

‘I don’t know. But it will be. I bet you my rare picture disc of Disintegration.’

Carmella wrinkled her nose. ‘Wow, now I really hope it’s not them.’ Then, ‘What’s a picture disc?’

‘You youngsters. You missed out. You probably feel nostalgia for cassettes.’

‘I don’t really remember them either.’

They reached the top of the stairwell and headed towards the flat where they’d found Martha last time. According to her, she’d moved back in a day after they’d chucked her out. Patrick wondered why she wasn’t in a hospital somewhere, how she had slipped through the cracks of the system. He wished he could do something for her, make sure she was taken care of. But that was something for another day, and if he was honest it was something he was unlikely to ever get round to. Now, all he cared about was finding Alice and Larry – and, he prayed, finally finding out what had happened to Frankie.

They stood outside the door of the vacant flat next to Martha’s. There were no sounds coming from within. Somewhere in the distance a baby was crying; a real one this time.

Patrick knew the flat had no back exit. The only way out was through this door or one of the front windows. He rapped on the door and waited, not expecting a response. None came.

He nodded at Carmella. Ready? She nodded back.

Patrick lifted his leg and kicked the door with all his strength. It gave immediately, swinging inwards and thudding against the wall. He ran into the room, Carmella behind him.

‘Police!’ he shouted, entering the first room he came to, what would have been the living room. No sign of them – but there were sleeping bags on the floor, a couple of empty pizza boxes, bottles of water, fag packets. The room was skin-meltingly hot and stank like a teenager’s bedroom turned up to eleven.

He heard a noise from somewhere in the flat and gestured for Carmella to follow him.

They found them in the gutted kitchen, standing against the back wall, holding hands. Alice looked terrified. Larry was trying his hardest not to look scared, but he was shaking.

‘Alice,’ said Patrick. ‘And Larry. Remember me?’

‘We haven’t done anything,’ Larry said.

‘A lot of people are looking for you two. Like your parents. They’re worried sick.’

‘I doubt that,’ Alice sneered, though her boyfriend wore a guilty expression, like he was concerned about his mum.

Carmella said, ‘We need you to come to the station to answer a few questions.’

‘What about?’ Alice asked, squeezing Larry’s hand like she was trying to break it. ‘We don’t know anything.’

‘Anything about what, Alice?’

‘About . . . I don’t know.’