I ignored the comment and continued to look at Singh, who was clearly trying to work out what the issue was between the two of us.

‘I’m afraid that wouldn’t be appropriate, Mr Lowther.’

‘Why not? I can communicate well with Leon. I’m a familiar adult, he’ll respond well to me if he comes back.’

‘Because you’re one of the last people to have seen a murder victim alive, and it would be a conflict of interests,’ Singh replied, his voice terse. Mike held up his hands in defeat, his charm having failed for once. I was stunned: Mike was a suspect in Steve’s murder.

‘I believe you were sharing a room with Mr Wilkinson. While we’re waiting, can you identify which items in the room belong to him?’ Singh asked. ‘Then you can pack your own belongings.’

Part of me wanted to speak up, to tell Singh not to trust Mike with anyone else’s possessions, but I knew I couldn’t say anything, not without good reason. My stomach was churning with the stress of being physically close to Mike, my mind flooded with negative memories, and I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe.

‘I’m going outside,’ I told Singh, holding up my phone. ‘Call me if you need me back.’

Before he had a chance to protest, I turned on my heel and walked away in the direction of the woods.

For about ten minutes I kept my head down, paying attention to nothing around me, only focusing on my own breathing. I watched my feet as they made fresh imprints in the newly fallen snow. The snow was already finding its way in through a gap between my hat and scarf, and I wasn’t following one of the paths the police had marked, but I didn’t care; I wasn’t thinking about anything other than the situation I’d suddenly found myself in.

I’d been pleased to receive another call from the police – not pleased that a teenager had gone missing, of course, but pleased to be working with them again. Back in February, I’d hoped I could get some more regular work for the emergency services, but the Deaf community is a small one and so my work had gone back to being sporadic. In the last few weeks I’d even been toying with the idea of signing on with an agency again; they controlled so many contracts and, being freelance, it was hard to get a look in. If it hadn’t been for my debts, I would have been financially stable with the work I was getting, but as it was, I was only just scraping by. And the one person I could safely lay the blame on for it was suddenly back in my life.