‘Well, no, I don’t think so. I don’t know. But someone said they saw Laurel getting into a car, an SUV. Dominic has a Porsche Cayenne, couldn’t it have been his car? I know they said it was a dark-coloured car, and Dominic’s is silver, but what if they got it wrong? It was dark after all. And at the time, they weren’t actively looking for something out of the ordinary – people remember things wrongly all the time.’ I pause for a moment to take a breath, before I carry on. ‘And I know I said that there was a chance Laurel could have got into a car with someone she didn’t know . . . but if it was Dominic, then she knew him, didn’t she? There would have been no reason for her to not get into the car, if she saw her dad.’ I wait a second for her to digest what I have just said, her eyes fixed on the candle at the altar. ‘I saw him this morning, coming out of his office. He was on his laptop – what if he was deleting something that he didn’t want the police to find?’ I find I am shaking and tuck my fingers under my thighs out of sight.

‘And the TV appeal . . .’ Fran says quietly. ‘Remember how he responded to the idea? I remember thinking at the time why wouldn’t he want to do it? Why wouldn’t he want to do everything he possibly could to find Laurel? Oh God, Anna, do you really think that Dominic could have something to do with all of this?’

‘I don’t know. But whatever he’s hiding, I think we need to speak to DS Wright ourselves.’

Sliding along the back alleyway to the house, we hear Dominic shouting before we reach the end of the garden path, and Fran gives me a worried glance before she forges ahead, hurrying up the path that runs along the side of the house to where Dominic stands in front of the open garage door.

‘Dominic, what is it? Please, stop shouting.’ Fran looks back over her shoulder to where a group of journalists still wait, enjoying the spectacle, a couple of them with their cameras raised, snapping pictures of Dominic’s fury. My heart thunders in my chest, anxiety at being recognised making my breath come in short pants as I tug my hat lower over my face and turn away.

‘They’re taking my bloody car, that’s what it is!’ Dominic shouts again, shoving his hands through his hair. ‘How am I supposed to do anything without a car?’