There are three photographs. One depicts the three cabinets outside The Connection. The second is a shot of Archer talking to Quinn and the third a mugshot picture of her at twelve years of age, her eyes wide, her hair wild and matted with blood. She looks feral. It has been a long time since she has seen that picture.

Jesus Christ!

For a second Archer feels like she is back down there, alone in the dark, in the earth. She doesn’t want to read on, but cannot help herself.

Abandoned by her mother at a young age and raised by her father and grandparents, twelve-year-old (ultimately Detective Inspector) Grace Archer disappeared from the streets of London. Her policeman father, murdered in the line of duty and still warm in his grave, couldn’t have foreseen the terrible fate that awaited his precious daughter. No one knew where she was. In their grief many had supposed she had run away. There was no trail, no clue, no indication whatsoever. She just disappeared. Weeks passed by and the conspiracy theories murmured through the nation’s minds like a flock of starlings . . .

Archer feels nauseous and cannot read any more. She snatches the article from the board, tears it up and takes it to the toilet where she flushes it away. She feels a heat rising inside of her and throws cold water from the tap on her face.

Fucking Hamilton.

She wonders who would have pinned the article up there for all to see and why. Is someone mocking her and getting their own back for their old corrupt colleague Andy Rees? She guesses it is Hicks. It has to be. Who else would have the nerve?

She gets a text alert on her phone from Quinn, who is running ten minutes late.

She dries her face with a paper towel that feels like sandpaper on her soft skin, composes herself and makes her way into the office. Several people look furtively across at her.

Archer ignores them.

‘Listen up, everyone,’ she calls, ‘in the incident room, now.’ Her voice has a snappiness to it, which is unlike her, but she doesn’t care. Someone has overstepped the line.

‘Klara, any luck with Elaine’s contacts?’

‘I’m afraid not. No one has seen or heard from Jordan. I contacted the school. He hasn’t attended since Thursday. They said they had contacted the mother and left a message, but haven’t heard back. Apparently, they called here yesterday to report Jordan’s lack of attendance, but that message wasn’t passed on.’

Archer’s expression hardens and she scans the faces of her team. ‘Did anyone take a call from Jordan Kelly’s school?’