Dale increased his grip, oblivious to crushing her fingers. ‘What if the bastard has got her? What if he’s hurting Lottie right now?’

Megan felt her gut spasm. It was too much to bear, too terrible to contemplate. She blurted out her reply, almost without thinking. ‘He lives on the council estate near to the park. You know, the one on the hill with a view of the river. It’s number eighteen or nineteen. I can’t remember which, but it’s definitely one or the other.’

Dale released her hand, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll fetch the posters. I left them on the bar. You take care of them, and I’ll do the rest. If the police ask, this conversation never happened. You never mentioned Davies, not to me.’

‘Oh, God, does that mean what I think it does?’

‘If Lottie’s there, or if I find anything out, I’ll let you know.’

She touched her bottom lip. ‘Yes, okay, but don’t use your mobile.’

‘I’ll get a cheap pay-as-you-go. I’ll ring your landline in a couple of hours.’

Megan stood and hugged him, pulling him close and holding him tight, finding comfort in their shared adversity. ‘Thank you, Dale. If the police ever ask me, we were together all afternoon. You say the same if you ever have to, and let them prove otherwise – either that or stick to a no-comment interview. And avoid the main streets on your way to his house. You don’t want to be caught on camera. You know the area as well as I do.’

‘Okay, I hear you. That’s not going to be an issue.’

‘We’ve got to find her. We’ve got to find her alive. Do whatever you need to do, no holds barred. I’ll understand, and I’ll do all I can to protect you. What would we do without our little girl?’

11

DS Lewis banged on Peter Davies’ front door without reply for a full thirty seconds before resorting to yelling. He could clearly hear the sound of the radio coming from inside the semi-detached house, Radio One or maybe Two, music and chatter, so why no reply? Lewis called out one last time before peering through a ground floor window.

He saw a man meeting his suspect’s description lying prone on the floor of a dated, sparsely furnished lounge. The man had dark blood seeping from his nose and mouth. He glanced up with swollen eyes when Lewis tapped the glass, and then quickly looked away. The detective grinned as the man attempted to crawl behind the sofa, but he didn’t try to rise and run.

Lewis threw his not inconsiderable bulk against the front door, once, then again, cursing loudly and crudely as a jolt of pain fired down one arm. He took a backward step and then hurled himself forward again, this time with success as the metal lock fractured in the wooden frame. The DS stumbled into the hall, falling to his knees, and then raising himself upright with the aid of a wall decorated with peeling wood chip paper.