‘His behaviour, you know. He’d never been what you could call stable, but when they took his daughter, well—’ Rob shook his head ‘—he kind of flipped out, mentally. People reckoned he was trying to replace her. That’s why he took Jonie.’

‘Which people reckoned that?’

‘At the time, like a few weeks before Jonie was taken – and as I said, I was young and can’t say for sure what I remember is correct – the mums were all freaking out about Billy’s daughter, saying he was hurting her and that she was acting very bizarrely, and something needed doing. They talked about abuse. Of course, at my age I hadn’t realised quite what they meant, but later, I came to understand. Everyone believed he’d sexually abused his own daughter. Makes me shudder.’

Lizzie looked down, focusing on her drink while she let his comment sink in. ‘And they took her away from him. So, as revenge, or as a replacement, he took one of their daughters. A daughter of one of the villagers who’d been instrumental in taking his away?’

Rob shrugged. ‘It’s a theory. He never did tell anyone his motives. Never told anyone where he dumped little Jonie’s body.’

‘That’s because he said he was innocent, didn’t he?’

‘To begin with he denied everything, yeah. Then his lawyer must’ve told him to plead guilty in return for a reduced sentence, rather than whole life. He wasn’t innocent, Lizzie. Couldn’t have been. No smoke without fire, as they say.’

She paused. ‘Depends who started the fire.’

Chapter Thirty-Six

1989

Blackstone Close

Friday 30th June – 19 days before

‘Eliza, come on in. Now!’ He barked his order, his voice hoarse from the remnants of the flu, and the chest infection he’d had on top of that. His forty-a-day smoking habit hadn’t gone any way to help matters either.

The girl, sitting in the dirt of the front yard among her dolls, had heard her father’s demand, but she’d caught sight of a movement at the end of the cul-de-sac, which had taken her attention. She pulled the head off the doll she’d been holding and placed it carefully down beside the arms. The legs could wait. She stood up and slowly walked towards the driveway entrance, her hands hanging loosely by her sides. She hoped it was a cat. She liked playing with live things.

‘Here, pussy, pussy,’ the girl called – her lisp making it sound as though she were saying ‘puthy’. Laughter erupted from the darkness of the bushes to her right. She stood still, putting her hands on her hips. She was disappointed it wasn’t a cat, but it might be someone she could play with.

‘Hello? Who is that? Can you come and play?’ she called. She knew she’d be in trouble though – her dad had just called her in for tea. She shouldn’t invite anyone in; he wouldn’t like it. She was never allowed anyone to come to play. It was unfair.