I didn’t like the sound of that at all.

‘Looking for what?’

‘They won’t tell me. They’re taking things away.’

‘What things?’

‘Our things.’

‘All right, I’m leaving now. Be home in ten minutes.’

William climbed up into his car seat in the back of my Hyundai.

‘Can I eat my Haribos, Daddy?’ he said, holding the packet up.

‘No. Yes. Just have half, OK?’

‘How many’s half?’

‘Just don’t eat them all, Wills.’

We pulled out onto the High Street, a numbness in my chest. I felt like I was going to be blindsided again.

Not this time. This time I’ll be ready.

I slotted the mobile into its hands-free cradle and rang Peter Larssen, leaving a message to call me urgently.

Mel had not been exaggerating about the police – they were all over the place. Milling about in the front garden in white overalls, a couple of them examining Mel’s car, a steady stream going in and out of the open front door like worker ants. A low-loader was parked at the kerb, its flatbed empty, ramp laid down to the street ready for a car to be taken away. William was wide-eyed as I unstrapped him from the car seat. He took it all in, mouth slightly open.

I held out my hand, but he didn’t move.

‘Police,’ he said quietly. ‘Police are here.’

‘Come on, Wills. Let’s go inside.’

‘Why are police at my house?’

‘They’re looking after Mummy,’ I said.

He still wouldn’t get out of his seat.

‘Who are the white men?’

I didn’t know who he meant for a moment, then he gestured towards one of the scene-of-crime officers in white overalls.

‘They’re police too, matey. Come on.’

I lifted him out of the car seat and set him down on the pavement. As we walked up the drive to my front door, a scene-of-crime woman emerged wearing full protective gear including gloves, face mask and plastic overshoes, as if she was coming out of a serial killer’s house. She had something under her arm, wrapped in a clear plastic Ziploc bag.

My laptop.

I held both hands up to stop her, and she moved to walk around me.

‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘That’s my laptop. What are you doing?’

The white-suited policewoman gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. I followed where she was pointing and saw DCI Naylor in the hallway of my house, white plastic overshoes on. He had his arms crossed and was talking to Mel.

‘Gaffer’s orders,’ said the policewoman carrying my laptop. ‘You better talk to him.’ She walked away from me down the garden path, towards a parked police van that said Scientific Support Unit on it in large blue letters. William clutched my hand tightly.

A uniformed officer by my front door stepped in front of me and put a hand up as I approached.