‘Do you think it’s him?’ Richard Holland asked, the veins throbbing in his thick neck as he tried to stay calm. ‘Christ, wasn’t he done for some kind of sex attack before? I should have thought of him, but … the police kept telling us Fiona had probably just run away. I didn’t want to think … well, not until this serial killer business kicked up.’

‘We don’t know if he’s involved,’ Tom said, truthfully. ‘We just want to speak to him. You’re sure Fiona never mentioned anything? She made a report to the police.’

‘Quite sure,’ her father replied. ‘I’d have killed him if I’d thought he’d laid a hand on my daughter. You’d better warn him to steer clear of me, Inspector. And why the hell has that man been allowed to remain in our village? Why isn’t he locked up somewhere he can’t get at women?’

‘Mr Holland, as I said – he may not have had anything to do with this. I know it’s hard, but please don’t go getting yourself riled up.’

The last thing they needed was a witch-hunt against Carney.

‘Look, before we go, I wanted to ask you both – have you lived in this area all your lives?’

Richard and Caroline looked at each other.

‘Yes,’ Caroline answered. ‘Why?’

‘You’ve never worked abroad for any period or in another county? You especially, Richard?’

Fiona’s father shook his head, confused.

‘No. I travel around the country for landscaping contracts, but I rarely stay more than a couple of days in any spot.’

‘So your parents were from here, too? You’ve no family home in any other part of Ireland.’

‘Mine are from Navan, but Caroline’s moved to Luttrell from Dublin. Why is any of this relevant, Inspector?’

Tom shrugged.

‘I just wondered about your own backgrounds,’ he said. ‘Whether somebody from your past might have had cause to harm your daughter.’

‘But if it’s this serial killer who’s taken her, it couldn’t have been somebody in our lives,’ Caroline said, staring at him suspiciously.

The inspector just gave a noncommittal grunt.

‘We’ve been wondering,’ Richard said, ‘if we can give another press conference. Plead for him to bring her back. We want to help. We’re going mad here, waiting.’

‘Let me think about it,’ Tom said.

They found Fergus on the shop floor of the Hollands’ huge garden centre. The family appeared to have a roaring trade in supplies for DIY gardeners, if the bustling centre was anything to go by.

‘We need to talk to you,’ Tom said. Fergus was moving heavy ceramic plant pots, aided by another man. He placed his load on the floor near Tom’s feet and stood up straight, his face red from exertion, dark eyes intense and angry.

‘Find my sister yet?’

‘No.’

‘Then what do you want with me?’