‘Are you alright, Mrs Philips?’

The older woman grimaced. ‘I need to sit down. When was that picture taken?’

‘Last week.’

‘In . . . in London?’

‘Yes. Very close to here.’

She shuddered. ‘And you think she’s got something to do with Frankie’s disappearance?’

Patrick was itching to get back inside to talk to Sean. Why had he lied about recognising the woman? But he wanted to get as much out of Eileen as he could. He was holding a box full of family secrets here, and in her shock Eileen was allowing him a glimpse inside. He needed to take a proper look before the woman became guarded and slammed the lid shut.

‘I thought Sean’s first wife died when Alice was three,’ Patrick said. It suddenly occurred to him that this was the same age as Frankie was now.

Eileen puffed on her cigarette. The way her mouth puckered made him glad he’d quit.

‘That’s what he told Alice. He didn’t want her to know her mum had run off and abandoned her.’

Patrick studied her as she took a magazine out of one of her shopping bags and fanned herself with it. She was lying about something. But before he could quiz her further, she said, ‘I really do need to sit down. And I think you should talk to Sean about this. Oh my Lord, he’s going to . . . I don’t know how he’s going to react when he finds out Penny is . . .’ She trailed off.

‘That’s her name?’

She nodded.

‘Let’s go inside,’ he said.

Eileen used her key to unlock the door. The house was silent, the TV turned off. Patrick stuck his head in the kitchen but it was empty, a half-drunk bottle of vodka on the worktop.

‘Sean?’ Eileen called. There was no reply.

Patrick checked the living room and dining room. A feeling of unease slid into his veins, the same kind of sick tingle he’d felt that day he’d come home and found Gill sitting on the stairs.

‘Sean?’ he called. Again, there was no answer. ‘He was here just now – wait here,’ he commanded Eileen.

He jogged up the stairs. The first room was Frankie’s. He walked straight past it and knocked on the door of the master bedroom before pushing it open. No one there. He called Sean’s name again. Had he slipped out the back door while Patrick was talking to Eileen? He checked the bathroom, then the office and Alice’s room. All empty.

One more room to check. Frankie’s. Patrick went inside.

‘No!’

Sean Philips was hanging from the light fitting, his belt tied around his neck. His feet swung a couple of inches above his daughter’s little bed.