It took one ram with the enforcer and the latch gave way. Dan and I followed ARU in, clambering up the stairs into the cold flat. No cooking smells greeted us, and no recent heat. The stairs took us onto a bare landing with wood-chip magnolia walls. We split up and I went into the lounge at the front of the building. ‘Nothing in here,’ I yelled.

‘All the rooms are empty,’ one of the ARU officers said as she dashed into the lounge. ‘No sign of the child anywhere here. The mother must’ve taken her somewhere.’

‘Thanks, Phil. Shit.’ I was gripped by a sense of foreboding. I’d naively hoped we would find her in the flat, safe and well. ‘We’ll need to search the place to find her address book. Anything with contacts in it for family, babysitters, friends. No phones were retrieved from the shop. I’ll look in here.’

The six of us split up again.

A few moments later Dan yelled from the bedroom. ‘In here. I’ve found something.’

We piled in.

He had a pink and mauve book in his hand and was fanning through the pages. ‘It’s the emptiest bloody address book I’ve ever seen.’

‘Right, keep looking. Can you bag up her hairbrush for DNA analysis? I’ll go downstairs to the café and ask what they know about Kelly and Abbie.’ I took Kelly’s photograph with me and hurried out onto the street and into the bustling café. Here, workmen were tucking into fry-ups and large mugs of milky tea. I spotted the boss, giving orders in broken English to his waiting staff.

‘DI Rahman,’ I said, and showed him my warrant. ‘The little girl who lives upstairs? Abbie Turner. Could you tell me when you last saw her?’

‘Not sure.’

‘I need you to think back, please? Thursday, Friday, Saturday or yesterday?’

‘Let me see. It was when the man come with roll and bread . . . so Friday.’ He looked pleased with himself. ‘I give the little girl a roll, see.’

‘Was the girl with her mother?’

‘Together. Yes.’

‘What time was this on Friday?’

‘Half eight? Something like that.’

‘Have you ever seen this man with Kelly, or arriving to visit her?’ I showed him a photograph of Simas Gudelis on my phone.

He took a quick look. ‘Many time,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘And other men too.’ He handed me a mug of tea. ‘Sugar on tables.’

‘Thank you.’ I took the mug. ‘Are you sure that no-one has been in or out of the flat in the last three days?’

‘Nobody. We hear everything. Clomp, clomp. She has no carpet. Like elephant.’

‘Do you know if she has any other regular visitors? Babysitters? Friends?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve seen her with many people but no-one I can tell who. She come here sometime for pusryčiai.’

‘Does she talk to any of your customers?’