All the warmth that was normally in her voice when she talked to him was absent. ‘What about this traveller? Wesley Hewson?’

‘He’s not the murderer. I’m sure of it.’

‘But he failed to report the body. He fucking concealed it.’

Patrick was surprised to hear her swear.

‘Why are you so sure it’s not him?’

Patrick tensed. She was the SIO but he was the lead detective on this case. ‘There’s no motive, and his explanation for why he did it makes perfect sense. Suzanne—’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Sorry. Ma’am.’ He knew she hated being called that but he was pissed off now. ‘We could pursue Hewson but I’m convinced it would be waste of time and effort.’

She prowled round the back of her desk. ‘I don’t think you realise how much pressure I’m under to show that we’re getting somewhere with this. I want you to arrest him for perverting the course of justice.’

‘Why? He didn’t intend to obstruct the case.’

Her face was pink. His probably was too, he realised. ‘Why are you sticking up for this cretin?’

‘Because it’s a waste of time and energy. We need to concentrate on—’

‘You can multitask, can’t you?’ she snapped. ‘Obviously you need to concentrate on finding out what the kids’ lives and routines have in common, and all the other . . . stuff . . . you’re doing.’ She waved her arm as she said this, as though ‘stuff’ was a pointless exercise in futility. ‘But I’m ordering you to arrest Hewson too.’

Patrick didn’t speak. His heartbeat thumped in his ears, the blood feeling thick and hot in his veins. It should be up to him whether Hewson was arrested. It was his investigation. Suzanne was completely disregarding his opinion. Eventually he said reluctantly, ‘If you think that’s for the best, boss. Why don’t you send Winkler to do it? He’d enjoy it.’

‘Very well. I will.’

Patrick hated this. He wanted to say something to make things good between them. But he was angry and couldn’t think of a single thing to say except, ‘Are we done?’

Back in the incident room, he found Carmella and Mike poring over the lists. Patrick sipped at his coffee and winced. Stone cold. Ruined. An apt drink for the way he was feeling right now.

‘There’s nothing,’ Carmella said. ‘Not a single place where their lives intersect. How can that be? I thought I had it for a moment, that Frankie went to a playgroup that’s attached to the Hartleys’ church – but it’s a different one. And there doesn’t seem to be anything else.’

Patrick sat down and scrutinized the lists again. Something popped out at him. ‘What’s this? Dads’ Club. Carmella, didn’t you say that Mr McConnell took Liam there occasionally. What is it?’

‘I don’t think he told me.’ Carmella said.