They were shown into a large room that was like a school classroom. A woman and a man waited for them, and they watched their dad greet the woman called Kelly. The man was called Will. Jordan couldn’t bear the looks they gave him – it was something that he’d soon realised was set on everyone’s face now: sympathy. He hated it.

There were some papers laid out on the table and Kelly asked if she could go through them: there were photos of their mum, she explained, and she wanted them to be ready. The three of them had chosen them the previous day. One depicted their mother in running kit, laughing; another showed just her beautiful face, staring into the camera. They’d also picked out one of the whole family because it had been tactfully mentioned that the more emotive the photos, the more profound the public response. The more TV viewers were faced with the true human impact of crime, the more likely they were to pick up the phone or email in.

Kelly turned over the photos and Millie let out a gasp and grabbed her dad.

‘Let’s sit down,’ Kelly said. Jordan liked her. She was strong, he could tell. It was something in her eyes that made him feel as though she had their backs. She was a bit like his mum, and he imagined her being stern but fair with her kids. He wagered that she was a good mum, like his. Millie whimpered, and Dad cradled her.

‘Millie, you don’t have to do this,’ Jordan said to his sister.

‘Dad, I can’t…’ she said. Her voice was tortured, and Jordan’s fists clenched open and shut. His anger was like a white-hot metal cable pulsing through every blood vessel in his body, charging him with the strength he needed to get through today for Millie and Dad, but also to focus on whatever he needed to do to get revenge. He knew a few guys at school who had links with the Beacon Estate. He had names. He could easily work out addresses. He’d even contemplated setting up fake drug deals, to get inside the crew. He had all the time in the world. Mum wasn’t coming back; there was no deadline. He had no other ambition than to find the two men who’d killed her and spend time alone with them. He knew how easy it was to work one’s way into a gang; Christ, they groomed volunteers for a living. He could easily, in the midst of his agonising grief, turn to drugs and misdeeds. Once on the slippery slope, he’d grow hard and dangerous, trusted by the inner few. The thought thrilled him.

‘If Millie would like to sit out, I can stay with her, Thomas,’ Kelly said.

‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ Millie whispered. Thomas held her and soothed her, then looked at Jordan.