‘That’s . . .’ Clearing her throat, Fran tries again, the words seeming to get caught on their way out. ‘That’s right, yes. He said he would meet us at the field, as he had a list at the hospital until six o’clock. There didn’t seem much point in us waiting here to meet him, as we would have missed the start of the bonfire, so I told him to meet us there. We argued about it, actually.’ She blinks, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger as if to stop the tears. ‘Do we really have to do this now? Shouldn’t you be there, at the station, questioning him? Making him tell you where Laurel is? I can’t bear this much longer.’ Her voice breaks, and a single tear rolls down her cheek. ‘I really need to know that she’s OK.’

‘We are trying, Fran, I promise. We need you to tell us as much as you possibly can in order to help us get the information we need. So, Dominic never showed up. Did he ever tell you where he was that night? Anna?’ Wright turns towards me.

‘He never told me,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘All he said was that he’d told you where he was, and that I shouldn’t mention it to Fran. Sorry.’ My stomach churns at the thought that all of this could have been dealt with, Dominic could have been dealt with days or even weeks ago if I had just told the police my suspicions. ‘I thought perhaps . . .’ I glance towards Fran, as she sits, head down, her fingers picking at her cuticles. ‘I thought perhaps he’d gone to meet a woman.’

‘Instead he . . . what? Snatched Laurel? Oh God, I feel sick,’ Fran moans, leaning forward, clutching at her stomach.

‘But if he took Laurel, how could he have known that she would follow Fran to the portaloos?’ I ask, still not wanting to believe that Dominic, the man I’ve worked for, shared a house with for the past three years, the man who supported me all those times when Fran was being difficult, could be capable of something so horrific.

‘This may not have been something that he planned,’ Wright says, ‘it may have been a spur of the moment decision, but in any case, Dominic doesn’t have an alibi for the time frame in which Laurel went missing.’

‘Where does he say he was?’ Fran asks, her face clammy, tendrils of hair sticking slightly to her damp forehead. She looks ill, as though she might throw up at any minute.