‘I liked that book,’ he said, the tears carving into his words, breaking them as they formed in his mouth. ‘I liked the idea of her being alive somewhere, of us being together.’ He stopped, wiping his eyes. ‘She’d be twenty-seven. Can you believe that? My baby, twenty-seven.’ Again, he paused, brushing his cheeks with his sleeve, pinching the photograph of Leanne so hard between his thumb and forefinger it was starting to crease. ‘Maybe – somewhere – she’s married. Maybe she has kids.’

He forced a smile.

‘Maybe I’m a grandfather.’

I nodded, smiled, watching as he held on to the picture for a moment longer, before placing it down on the table again, next to the other memories of his family.

‘I hope I’m a better father in that place,’ he said.

He looked up at me.

‘I hope I always tell my family that I love them.’

Part Two

THE DEER

13

By 8 a.m., we were on the mud track leading in through the gate at Black Gale. The rain of the day before was gone, and under a perfect blue sky the colour of the fields seemed so bright, so different from my first visit, it was like seeing it through some kind of filter. Snow still clung to the hills, but it was a perfect spring morning.

Ross had left me the alarm codes for the houses, as well as the keys, so Healy and I went around unlocking the properties, and then I gave him an overview of what I’d found – or hadn’t – inside each the previous afternoon. I’d also brought a copy of the police evidence inventory, and a checklist I’d written of items most likely to have been taken by the villagers, alongside their wallets and phones – jackets, hats, beanies, torches, practical belongings that might help with a planned disappearance and tell us a little more about where they were headed. It was, in truth, going to be impossible to account for any missing effects definitively, but piece by piece we might build a bigger picture.

‘I’ll help you when I get back,’ I said to him afterwards.

‘Back from where?’

‘I’m going to see where Patrick went for his walks.’

I left Healy and headed down the track, around the farm and out past the barns. The Gibbses’ garden ran at an angle, its gentle slope finally ending at the moss-dotted drystone wall that marked the northernmost edge of Black Gale.