Mickey stared at Carmella and muttered something under his breath. He stood up, went over to the door and leaned out. A minute later, a man of around eighteen or nineteen came in to the mobile home. He was wearing a white polo shirt with baggy jeans and had gelled-down hair that accentuated his jug ears. He held himself straight, trying to give it some attitude, but the moment Patrick fixed him with his steeliest glare the façade of bravado crumbled away.

‘Tell them what happened, ya eejit,’ Mickey said.

The moment Wesley spoke it was clear he wasn’t the brightest star in the firmament. In Patrick’s childhood, they would have called him remedial. He wouldn’t look anywhere near them as he spoke.

‘I found her round the back, by the bins, like. She’d been—’ He screwed up his face ‘—just left there, you know, with a, like, black bin liner over her. There were all flies buzzing about. It was minging.’

Patrick swallowed. ‘Her?’

‘A little girl. Just a tiny little thing, you know. About the same age as my daughter.’

Mickey nodded. ‘Wes here is a father of two.’

‘When was this?’ Patrick asked, expecting to hear the time of day.

‘Monday.’

It took a second for the reply to sink in. He and Carmella exchanged a look of shock.

‘Monday? That was six days ago.’ So it wasn’t Frankie.

Wesley hung his head like a dog who’d been caught stealing Christmas dinner and Mickey said, ‘He was hiding her.’

‘Where?’ Patrick asked. The heat was making him sweat and he felt sick, dizzy with dread. Carmella had gone a shade paler too.

‘Tell them,’ Mickey said, cuffing the teenager around the back of the head.

‘Round the back of the camp, behind where the bins are, there’s this, like, old building.’

‘Used to be public toilets,’ Mickey explained.

‘I put her in there. Covered her up with this old, like, tarpaulin. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.’

Patrick stared at the boy. There had been few times in his career when he’d been lost for words, but this was one of them.

‘Listen,’ Mickey said, stepping in front of Wesley. ‘He may be a fucking eejit, but he did it because he knew exactly what people would think. Travellers – murdering those little kids that have gone missing. He panicked. Decided to hide her till he’d figured out what to do.’

‘And, what, it took him six days to decide to—’

‘Tell me. Yeah. And I called you straight away.’ Mickey looked as sick as Patrick felt. ‘That little babby needs to be buried by her family. And you need to catch the sick bastard who did it.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Wesley said again.