‘You probably should have done – but it may not have made the slightest bit of difference. If the hair is Laurel’s it could have been left there at any time. And Laurel was already gone by then.’

‘You definitely believe Dominic took her?’ Fran’s voice makes me jump, and I turn to see her in the doorway, her face pale with a sickly sheen, one hand pressed against her belly. ‘But he won’t say where she is?’

‘That’s right,’ DS Wright says, ‘there’s something I’d like to show you, Fran, if that’s OK? It is potentially quite distressing to both of you, I should warn you.’

‘OK.’ Fran nods. ‘Whatever it is, I just want to know.’ Her voice breaks on the last word, and impulsively I reach over and take her hand, her fingers cold in mine.

DS Wright reaches into the satchel style bag she has at her feet and pulls out an A4-sized photograph, protected by a plastic wallet. ‘I need to know if either of you recognises this.’

It’s a sock. A tiny, pale lemon sock with a white lace frill around the ankle. I hear Fran inhale, and then she whimpers slightly. ‘It’s Laurel’s. That’s Laurel’s sock, isn’t it, Anna?’ She turns to me with wide eyes and I nod in agreement.

‘Yes. That’s Laurel’s sock . . . there’s blood on it.’ I raise my eyes from the photograph to meet DS Wright’s eyes, my skin itching as though there are a thousand tiny ants marching over it. A dark crimson stain mars the perfect lemon yellow wool, a thick, ugly stain that tells of a deep, angry gush of hurt. I close my eyes as the room seems to swim about me for a moment, and I feel Fran’s fingers grip my hand tightly, so tightly it hurts.

‘So, you both can confirm that this is definitely Laurel’s sock?’

‘Yes,’ Fran whispers, ‘I put those socks on her that night before we left the house. She wanted to wear sandals because she loved showing off these socks, but I made her wear wellies instead.’

‘But what about the blood,’ I say, ‘and where did you find the sock?’

‘We found the sock in Dominic’s car,’ Wright says, and although she speaks with no trace of emotion in her voice, she blinks hard, telling me that she’s finding this just as difficult as we are. ‘It was tucked away underneath the passenger seat.’