‘That can’t have been me. Probably some other teenage boy on a bike.’ He tried to make a joke. ‘I hope Alice didn’t have some other bloke round there. I’ll kill her. I mean, I wouldn’t . . .’

Patrick stood up and crossed the room quickly so he was standing over Larry, crowding him. ‘If you were there that night, whatever you were doing, you’re potentially an important witness. That little girl is missing. I guess you heard about Isabel Hartley? About how we found her dead yesterday? I assume you don’t want the same thing to happen to Frankie, do you?’

Larry’s Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘Of course not. But I wasn’t there. I swear.’

The room fell silent.

Patrick exhaled through his nose. ‘Come on, we’re wasting our time.’ He took his business card out and flicked it onto the sofa. ‘If you remember that you were there, even if you can’t think of anything that might help us, call that number.’

Back in the car, Patrick thumped the steering wheel with the flat of his hand and winced. There was a tangy smell in the air, the odour of a coming storm. He pictured a rippling swimming pool on a tropical island, somewhere peaceful and far away. But before he could enjoy the vision, a child’s body floated into view in his imaginary pool, eyes closed, a tiny Ophelia, and he gasped as if he were the one drowning.

‘I think he’ll crack if we keep leaning on him,’ Carmella said.

Patrick shook away the image of the drowned child.

‘It’s not worth it. I say we forget about Larry Gould – even if he was shagging Alice that night, he probably didn’t see anything useful. Let’s follow the leads we’ve got.’

His partner hesitated before nodding. ‘OK. We’ll follow the leads we have. Which are?’

Patrick took his Moleskine notebook out of his pocket and waved it at Carmella. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘Yes, I had a bowl of muesli.’

‘Well, all I had was half of piece of toast and jam that Bonnie chucked on the floor. I’m ravenous. Let’s go to Diners’ Delight.’

‘Oh god, just stepping in that place makes me break out in zits.’

Ten minutes later they took a table at Patrick’s favourite greasy spoon and while Carmella played it safe with bottled orange juice and a round of toast, Patrick went for the full English and a bucket of tea.

‘Everything alright with you?’ he asked.

She looked up from her OJ, surprised. ‘Yes. Why?’

‘Oh, just checking. This is a tough case. Wanted to make sure it’s not getting to you.’

‘If I say it is, will I get a week’s leave?’