‘It’s horrible.’ Dan said.

‘He said they called themselves “street rats”. I thought he meant that was their gang name. What he meant was that was how others saw him, and . . . ’ I stifled a sob, ‘ . . . how he saw himself.’ I fished in my pocket for a tissue. ‘And it’s all our fault. We barged in there and terrified him, and he ran off.’

‘C’mon, Maya.’ Dan’s voice was gentle. ‘We’re all buggered. Let’s leave the guys to do their job. The best way we can help is to catch whoever did this.’

I nodded. ‘This is one of those occasions where it upsets me more to know that he has no family to notify of his death, than it would to be the person to tell them. No-one to cry and grieve his loss. What sort of life is that?’

‘Let’s go. The search teams might have news on Abbie. And we’ll need to grab a couple of hours’ kip before we hit the streets again.’

I shook my head. ‘Keep me posted on the manhunt.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’ll meet you back at the nick. There’s something I need to do first.’

Maya, 8 p.m.

Maya, 8 p.m.

I rang the bell a second time. Waited. She was in. The lights were on and I could hear her on the phone in the front room.

A face peered round the curtains. Her expression contracted when she saw who it was.

A few moments later Suzie opened the front door a couple of inches and spoke to me over the burglar chain. ‘What do you want, Rahman?’ It was a snarl.

‘Could I come in, please?’

‘No chance.’ She patted the top knot in her hair and looked over her glasses and down her nose. ‘You can say what you want to say from there.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Suzie, I need to speak to you. It’s late. It’s bloody freezing and your neighbours will hear every word I say, standing here.’

‘For God’s sake.’ She stood back, letting me enter the house. ‘What’s this about?’ she asked, trying to sound far more innocent than we both knew she was. She led the way along a narrow hall into the lounge.

‘I need to speak to you about two things.’ The room was spacious and cosy, with table and chairs in one corner. Clear surfaces except for a laptop and her mobile phone. Beside the sofa, a few toys nestled in a neat crate and there were photographs of a young boy on the mantelpiece.

‘I’ll give you five minutes.’ She pretended to glance at the clock on the wall over the fireplace. ‘I’ve got split ends to trim and a deadline to meet.’

‘The first thing is official. The second is . . . ’ I paused.

Her face was belligerent.

‘. . . personal.’

‘Oh?’ She stared, eyebrows raised. Intrigue had eclipsed defiance.

‘Duckett House.’