It was early afternoon by the time Maya and Dan arrived in Kilburn to interview Patrick Ryan’s parents. Sunday traffic had caught them at Old Street roundabout, Euston and Maida Vale. The journey had given him the chance to ask Maya if he could take some leave once the case was over, and despite the frostiness that lingered between them over Ali, she’d agreed. He was relieved – he desperately wanted to go home to Sydney and spend some time with Aroona and the girls, to see if they could sort out a way forward that would work for them all. The girls were best off with their mum, there was no doubt about that, so, much as he was tempted, he hadn’t suggested that they come to the UK and live with him. He missed Aroona terribly. Her wise soul, her kindness and the way she kept him grounded. He missed being a husband, but more than anything, he wanted to be a dad again.

Gabriel and Sinead Ryan had a ground-floor flat in an ugly concrete block set back from the main road. The woman who opened the front door was barely an inch over five feet tall. She had hair the colour of sand, cut into a neat bob around what was still a pretty face. A baggy cardigan hung on her petite frame.

Dan showed his warrant. ‘DS Maguire and DI Rahman. Could we speak to you about your son, please?’

Sinead wrapped the cardigan tighter about herself. ‘Come in,’ she said, clearly flustered. ‘Nicola rang and told us about Patrick.’ She padded along the hall in socks, and led Dan and Maya into a spacious lounge where they’d been vegging out in front of the telly.

In the middle of the room, an archway opened onto a kitchen. At the other end, two black leather sofas lay opposite each other, with drinks tables dotted round the room. The floral wallpaper felt almost cheerful, but Dan got the impression that fun and laughter were commodities which were in short supply in the Ryan household. Gabriel was sitting, rock-still, in an armchair. His shirt wasn’t tucked in and he hadn’t shaved for days. Beside him, a small table was littered with medication packets, inhalers and tablets.

‘Nicola didn’t say much on the phone but then she rarely does.’ Sinead’s dull eyes conveyed a combination of frustration and resignation. ‘My poor boy. What happened to him?’

The room echoed with the ghosts of dissatisfaction and Dan found it hard not to feel sorry for her. ‘Our investigations are still ongoing. Nicola told us about some of the difficulties your son’s had in the last few years. Can you give us your take on these?’ He smiled at her, trying to be friendly. He was aware that they’d rocked up and begun asking questions, and he had no idea how much they knew about Patrick’s lifestyle and addictions.