“The girl, Grace, was small, only six, she’d just been discharged from the hospital. It was the first time she’d been in—meningitis. Simon and Megan had at last gone their separate ways by this point. He was pissed off Megan hadn’t let him see Grace in the hospital. He still had a key to the back door and when Megan went in to check on Grace one night just days after she was discharged her bed was empty. Blues and twos tracked him down, driving south just a few miles out of Plymouth. Must have scared the poor little thing shitless.”

“She was six?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Just a couple of years older than Danny when he drowned.”

Dave makes the cod face again, before he lifts his glass, shrugs, so? Although officially cleared of any wrongdoing or neglect, so many years after the tragedy Simon is still widely held responsible for his son’s death. Dave’s eyes glide back towards the football scores.

“So, you have any idea where Simon is now?” I ask, wanting to keep Dave talking.

He snorts. “As if I’d tell you, mate. More than my life’s worth. But the truth is, they could be anywhere. If they’re still alive, and if he’s got any brain cells, he’ll have left the country already.”

“With Grace?”

Dave shrugs again, smiles from the corner of his mouth, but he’s trying too hard, I can tell he doesn’t have a clue. Anything he does know is locker-room gossip from the station, based on conjecture, nothing more. Upton has enough sense to keep lowly constables safely away from anything important. Dave burps softly into his hand, his forehead creases, and he looks up at me.

“What’s your theory, then?”

I keep my face open. “What do you mean?”

“You must have a theory, asking me here, getting involved when you of all people should be staying well clear.”

“Not really, mate, no theory. Honestly, I got in touch because I wanted to tell you about these bloody therapy sessions Ruth’s insisting on, but then the news came on and, well, it’s difficult to think about anything else, isn’t it?”

Dave laughs, guttural, into his beer. Clearly he doesn’t believe a word. He probably thinks, like everyone else, I’m here to defend Simon. But it’s different now. Before recent events, I felt sorry for Simon. I could tell he loved his family, but since that sunny June day over twenty years ago he’d been in perpetual freefall, trapped in his own scream. He’d been punished again and again for a moment’s distraction. The man lost everything he loved in a single moment. His life was my worst nightmare. I felt sorry for him. But a violent man with nothing to lose is dangerous, and now I know he was the only person who would have a motive to murder Meg and kidnap Grace.

I feel Dave still looking at me, but he’s not smiling anymore and his glass is on the table, a sign he’s about to get serious again. He burps quietly under his breath this time before speaking.