‘He has admitted that he arranged to meet Pamela, but then never showed. He says he was driving around, but he couldn’t tell us exactly where. He said he was still upset with you, Fran, after your argument that morning. There isn’t any CCTV along those country roads, so it’s been difficult for us to trace his exact whereabouts that evening.’

‘So, he doesn’t have any sort of alibi at all?’ I ask. It’s looking more and more as though my instinct was right, and I rub at my arms, as a sudden chill runs over me as though someone has walked over my grave.

‘No. It doesn’t look that way,’ Wright says. She sinks into the chair opposite Fran, leaning forward to catch Fran’s eye. Fran is still staring at her feet, her eyes wide and unblinking, unwilling to meet DS Wright’s gaze. ‘There are a few other things that I need to speak with you about, Fran, relating to Dominic and his arrest. We found some . . .’ Wright tilts her head to one side as she considers how best to put her next words, ‘some disturbing images on his computer.’

‘On the PC?’ Fran finally looks up at DS Wright, her mouth a grim slash cut into her pale face. ‘What kind of images? Pictures of Laurel?’ She raises her hand to her mouth, pressing hard against her lips. Swallowing, I close my eyes, fighting back the nausea that scorches the back of my throat.

‘The only pictures of Laurel were family photos, thankfully, but obviously we did do a thorough search as part of the investigation and we did take a further look into the files on the computer. We found several images depicting children.’

‘Oh, God.’ Fran gets to her feet, rushing from the room, and a few moments later we hear the sound of retching coming from the downstairs bathroom.

‘I’ll go,’ Kelly says, leaving DS Wright and I alone together, the overpowering scent of lilies coming from the plug-in air freshener making me feel even sicker.

‘I can’t quite believe this is happening,’ I say, shaking my head. A lock of hair flops over my forehead and I shove it back, impatiently. ‘I mean . . . God, Dominic.’ I let out a long breath. ‘I mentioned it to DC Bishop in my interview but . . . I should probably tell you that there was a hair on his jacket, the morning after Laurel disappeared. A long, blonde hair. I thought maybe it belonged to a woman, that maybe that’s where he’d gone that night . . . I didn’t say anything. I should have though, shouldn’t I?’ Hot tears sting my eyes and I have to blink rapidly to try and quench them.