‘Yes, he is. He and his father are going over some business. Richard hasn’t been there lately, obviously. But now with Fiona coming back – well, he’s making sure Fergus hasn’t run us into the ground.’ She laughed, the sound hollow and forced.

Nikki took the baby and went off to summon the two Holland men.

‘I don’t think I’ve told you before but this has always been Fi’s favourite room,’ Caroline said, sitting down on one of the chairs. ‘It’s the green. She finds it soothing. God, I can’t believe what happened. That somebody we knew took her. Well, I didn’t know him as such. I knew he worked for us. To think, we gave him access to our daughter. Thank God you figured it out.’

She closed her eyes and inhaled. The inspector could see that though she was still wound to a tight knot of concern, Fiona’s mother’s despair had been replaced with something else. Patience. She was calm, believing now that it was just a waiting game until her daughter was found.

Her hope made Tom hate even more what he had to do here, what was coming.

Richard and Fergus arrived together. Both men looked at the inspector questioningly, but Tom knew only one of them was concerned for Fiona’s well-being. The other wanted to know what the detectives knew, what they’d come for.

‘Thank you for seeing us,’ he began. ‘I’m sorry, as I said to Mrs Holland, that I’m not the bearer of good news. In fact, I’m afraid you might need to prepare yourself for very bad news.’

‘Oh, my God,’ Caroline wailed. ‘Is she dead?’

Richard paled, his hand grasping his wife’s.

‘We haven’t found her yet,’ Tom continued. ‘But I fear that, yes, she may be dead. I’m afraid also that we’ve been pursuing the wrong line of inquiry. I think it may be the case that Fiona has been dead all along.’

‘Wait a moment,’ Richard barked. ‘You’ve caught him, haven’t you? Charlie Lane. You said he kept the women for a while. So he can’t have killed Fi already and if you haven’t found her body yet – why are you saying this? Why are you upsetting us? I don’t understand.’

‘He didn’t take Fiona,’ Tom said, gently. ‘I don’t really understand this either. But I think your son does. Don’t you, Fergus?’

The young man looked shocked for a minute. Then he scowled at the detectives, his face assuming its usual sulky pose.

‘What do you mean by that?’ he spat.

Richard and Caroline were looking from Tom to Fergus and back again, completely adrift.

‘I don’t understand how anybody could murder his sister and let his parents live through the hope that she was still alive,’ the inspector explained. ‘It seems particularly cruel.’