DS Mike Staunton entered the room carrying a cardboard tray of coffees from the Costa down the road. Mike was the very definition of a decent, solid cop. Recently married to the beautiful Aurelie, Mike talked about his wife more than any man Patrick had ever met. It was sweet. He hoped the long hours and occasional horrors of the job didn’t wreck the futures of the happy couple.

Mike handed Patrick his. ‘Vanilla latte, double shot. Carmella, extra flat and wet.’

She grinned up at him. ‘Let me guess, regular filter coffee for DS Staunton.’

‘You know me so well.’

Patrick and Carmella spread out their lists on the table. Mike looked over their shoulders. ‘Why don’t you put them all into the computer and sort them alphabetically?’

‘This is quicker,’ Patrick said, his eyes scanning the three lists. He felt shaken from his visit to both families, but particularly the Hartleys. He thought he was never, ever going to forget the image of Fiona Hartley slicing banana and sprinkles for a little girl who was never coming back. All the way through the interview, Patrick had kept thinking It was so nearly me. He dreamed about that afternoon, when he had come home and found Gill sitting on the stairs, every week, but in his dreams Bonnie didn’t come back to life, and he always woke up trembling and cold, relief sending him rushing into his daughter’s room to confirm that yes, she was still alive. Still here. Unlike poor Izzy.

He read through the list out loud. ‘Different nurseries . . . The Hartleys go to church but the other two families don’t . . . No common holiday or day trip destinations . . . Two of them have been to The Playbarn, that soft play place in Teddington but the McConnells haven’t . . . Two go to this thing called the Eleven O’Clock Club in Bushy Park . . . Only the McConnells shop regularly at Sainsbury’s . . .’

The door opened again and DCI Laughland came in. As always, when she walked into the room, Patrick’s blood stirred; everything else in the room grew a little dimmer compared to Suzanne.

She came over to the table. ‘Any progress?’

The strain of the case, the pressure from the media, and those higher up, showed on her face. As well as wanting to find the abductor for the children and their parents, Patrick wanted to do it for Suzanne too. Not just to repay her faith in him but because, at the most basic human level, he wanted to make her happy.

He told her what they were doing and she pursed her lips. ‘Can I have a word?’

Patrick followed her to her office. ‘What’s up?’ he said, as she shut the door behind them.

‘How close are we to making an arrest?’

‘An arrest? You know we haven’t got any real suspects yet.’