Wynne was impressed he had remembered her name. She had only mentioned it once. ‘I need help. Information, if you have it.’

‘And why would I help you?’

‘Because I’ve done my research.’

He stared at her. His eyes were dark. ‘What does that mean?’

Wynne held his gaze. ‘It means I know you have a fifteen-year-old daughter. Amanda goes to Withington Girls’ School.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What the fuck are you saying? Is this some kind of threat?’ He pointed at Wynne, his finger stabbing the air. ‘Because if it is, and you bring my daughter into this, I will destroy you, understand? Do you under—’

PC Edwards got to his feet. ‘Watch it,’ he said. ‘Be careful, Mr Mullins.’

‘Shut your mouth, Plod,’ Mullins said. ‘This is between me and her.’

‘Your daughter is of no interest to me,’ Wynne said. ‘Other than the fact you have one. And she’s fifteen.’

‘Go on.’

‘A fifteen-year-old girl has gone missing,’ Wynne said. ‘And we have reason to believe she has been abducted. It’s possible it was opportunistic and she has been killed, but I don’t think so.’

‘What do you think?’ Mullins said.

‘That she’s being forced into prostitution or pornography or something similar.’

‘And you think I might be involved in it?’

‘No,’ Wynne said. ‘But you might know someone who is.’

Mullins shook his head. ‘No. I don’t. I know those people exist, but I have nothing to do with them. They’re filth.’

‘I’m glad you’re so principled,’ Wynne said. ‘But I’m sure there’s something you could tell me.’

Mullins laughed. ‘It’s not principle,’ he said. ‘It’s lack of information. The scum who peddle that kind of shit keep themselves to themselves. It’s a very secretive world, Detective Inspector. It has to be. If people like me found out who they were, we’d take care of them. For good. We’re not as squeamish as you.’

Wynne felt her hopes deflate. She’d been right that Mullins would find it disgusting, but she was wrong that he would have anything he could tell her.

‘But you would inform us if you heard anything?’ she said.

He studied her. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I would. Just this once, I would.’

She stood up.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

3

DI Wynne knocked on the door of a semi-detached house on a quiet street about a mile from the Coopers’ house, in the village of Stockton Heath. It was a lively place, prosperous and growing, populated with a mixture of long-established inhabitants and more recently arrived commuters.

In Wynne’s experience, the arrival of new people changed the character of places like Stockton Heath: they were less embedded in the life of the village, less likely to call on their neighbours. Once, everyone would have known everyone’s business in the village. Now, people kept themselves to themselves.