‘It’s beautiful here,’ she said as her eyes filled with tears. ‘I hope you have a white Christmas, Inspector.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Wade.’ He felt himself choking up. ‘I hope so too.’

‘Make the most of your family,’ she said through her tears. ‘Every moment is precious.’

‘I will. Take care of yourself.’ Palmer hung up and sat back in his office chair.

He looked around the incident room at everyone busily working and for a moment had a desire to pick up his computer and hurl it through the window. Most of the time he managed to compartmentalise his emotions from his work but hearing the sadness in her voice brought everything crashing through.

He knew that being a policeman was important. He was helping people and keeping the city safe, but he also knew that these moments with his son would come and go, and he wished he could find a better home and work life balance.

Trying to control the sudden rage that was building in him he went and looked out of the window. What was he doing, working on a Sunday, two days before Christmas when he could have been with his wife and son? Palmer wondered how much longer he could remain in the force. He loved his job, and he was good at it, but he knew he was missing out with his family.

‘Are you okay?’ Elly appeared behind him and rested her hand on his shoulder.

‘I’m fine,’ he said shrugging her off, sniffing and getting a grip of himself. ‘I’ve got something I need you to do.’

‘Okay.’

‘I need you to find anything you can on the suicide of a boy named Jack that happened in the late nineties. I don’t have a last name, but it was possibly in ninety-eight. Come back to me when you have something.’

‘Is this related to the case?’ she asked putting her hands on her curvy hips.

‘I think it might be.’

‘I’ll get onto that right now,’ Elly said turning and walking back to her desk, her heels clapping on the floor as she went.

Palmer returned to his desk and sat looking at his notes. He could see a link forming. Fishing, scouts, Dennis, Jack. Somehow, he was sure it all came back to this. But where did Wendy and Eddie fit in to it? He could feel that all of the pieces of the puzzle were there: they just needed to be slotted into place.

Picking up his notepad he moved over to the incident board and examined the evidence. The pictures of the victims, scenes of the crimes, maps and the timeline – none of it yet added up. His eyes finally rested on the artist’s impression of the suspect. There was something generic about the face yet strangely familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.