They’d torn Charlie Lane’s house asunder, searching for any clues as to where he might have taken Laura. They’d found nothing, including very little that would give them any insight into the man’s personality. There were few family photographs, just a couple that they’d found in a small album on a bookshelf upstairs. Even that had most of the pictures removed. Those that remained showed a young woman and two boys – Charlie, his toddler brother and his mother, the inspector presumed. On closer examination, he realised the woman in the picture bore a resemblance to Pauline O’Hara. It was in the eyes and the mouth. Was that why Lane had started? Because he’d seen a woman who looked like the mother who’d abandoned him? Had it been that simple?

The man had erased all traces of his grandfather. It was amazing he’d come back to this house at all. The only other item of interest had been a copy of an old fairy tale. Sleeping Beauty. Tom had flicked to the title page, where an inscription read:

To my little prince, Charlie, from your mama.

‘He must have another house somewhere,’ Ray said, stomping around the kitchen, where they’d set up base. ‘Where’s Fiona Holland? There’s nothing to say she was here.’

Maybe she’s already dead, Tom thought, but didn’t say aloud. He didn’t have to. Ray had already considered it. He just couldn’t iterate the words for fear of what that could mean for Laura. If Lane had a second house – then that’s where Laura could be now.

The forensics squad was hard at work in the cellar. Emmet had indicated that there were historical traces of blood and human DNA, as well as the more recent blood on the floor and outside the house. They would be gathering evidence all night.

Linda McCarn sat at the table, her head in her hands.

‘So all avenues of approach to Glendalough have been blocked off,’ she said.

Tom nodded.

‘From the main road to the valley. It’s part of the Wicklow Mountains National Park, though, and that’s spread over twenty thousand hectares. We have the main trail and the woodland between the lakes guarded, the two car parks, and there are patrol cars doing circuits of all the roads at the far end of Glendalough, the ones that could provide access points to the more difficult terrain at the rear of the valley. There’s a helicopter in the air, too.’

Linda rubbed her temples, her lips pursed.

‘It means something to him – that area. And it’s part of his ritual.’

She glanced at the book of fairy tales that the inspector had brought down from upstairs.