‘Don’t think? Well, fucking call him and find out.’

She stared at him with wide eyes. She and Mike exchanged a look and he knew exactly what they were thinking – that he’d just had a bollocking from the SIO.

He would apologise later, but for now he watched Carmella call the McConnells, turning into the corner of the room to speak to the father of missing Liam again. After a couple of minutes she hung up and came back over, picking up the Hartleys’ and Philipses’ lists.

‘The Dads’ Club is a place where dads can take pre-school children on a Saturday morning. It takes place at the Eleven O’Clock Club in the park.’

There it was. Like three gold bells falling into line on a fruit machine.

‘Jackpot,’ Patrick said.

Another park, more happy children’s voices floating across from the playground, little yelps of excitement from the swings and slides and sandpit. Bonnie came to this park most days with her nan, or Patrick sometimes brought her on his days off. He and Gill used to come to this park too, way back when, before she got pregnant and had Bonnie. Back before everything changed. Patrick remembered long, baked summer’s days spent lounging on the grass with a newspaper and a picnic. Slow kisses on hot afternoons. He remembered one day early in their relationship when, concealed by trees, he had slipped his hand beneath her skirt and brought her to a silent, gasping orgasm.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed since then. That happy couple didn’t exist any more. But there was one good thing remaining: Bonnie.

‘I broke my leg falling off a swing when I was a wee girl,’ Carmella said.

‘You were a daredevil, I bet.’ He had apologised for his outburst, and she assured him the incident was forgotten already.

‘A little minx, according to my dad.’

Patrick smiled. ‘I was always scared of things like that when I was little. Heights, danger, anything that might make me fall over and hurt myself. I’ve got a lot better now but Bonnie takes after me, unfortunately.’

‘I’d say she’s pretty fortunate to take after her dad.’

Rather than her mum. The words hung unspoken and Patrick said, ‘Right, let’s go check out this place.’

The Eleven O’Clock Club was based in a squat prefabricated building next to the playground in the south-west corner of the park. It closed its doors at one but Patrick had called ahead and someone had agreed to meet them and talk to them. He could see her now, an attractive black woman in linen trousers and a white T-shirt, waiting by the door, staring at her phone.

‘Jemima Walters?’ Patrick asked, shaking her warm hand. ‘DI Lennon, DS Masiello. Thanks for agreeing to meet us.’

She nodded. ‘Are you investigating the child abductions? Oh those poor—’

‘Can we go inside, where it’s private?’

‘Sure, sure.’