‘Another victim. Yet another poor bloody victim,’ Perry said.

Otara put his arm around Gillard’s shoulder, and encouraged him to go with Sam to the hospital where she would have a check-up.

‘I want to nail Harrison. For what he did to her.’

‘We all do, Craig. But right now we have got to find out where John’s daughter is.’

Gillard nodded and made his way out towards the emergency vehicles. He turned back to his colleagues, who were watching him, and particularly to Perry. ‘John, I’ll call you later.’

The detective inspector nodded grimly.

‘We’re going to find Vanessa, you know. Have faith.’

Chapter Twenty

At 16 Wensleydale Walk, Melanie Perry came to after a dreadful night. After John had left in the small hours, saying he was going to look for their daughter, she had suddenly felt a great rush of regret. He wouldn’t say exactly why he now thought she was in so much danger. He merely told her to watch the phone, to monitor emails and to keep her eyes peeled. If Vanessa made any contact, she was to text him immediately.

She stayed up for two or three hours, then fell asleep at the kitchen table before awaking briefly with the dawn chorus in a zombie-like trance. Again and again she alternately dozed off then awoke with a shock to relive the horror of a missing daughter. It was still dark when she went up to Vanessa’s room, which looked like it had been ransacked. Presumably by John. There must be something he wasn’t telling her, and she had a horrible feeling about it. She tried to ring him, but her calls kept going to voicemail.

Mel stumbled back down into the kitchen and made some coffee, and then noticed that the shed light was still on. That was strange. She changed from slippers into Crocs, slipped an outdoor jacket over her T-shirt and joggers, and padded across in the chill first light of the morning. The shed, foreign territory, was unlocked. It was the place John would always retreat to like an embattled crab when the domestic going got tough. She generally had no curiosity about this masculine cave. She opened the door and realised the fan heater was still on low. Cursing him for the waste of energy, she reached down to turn it off, and then glanced at what was spread across the worktop.

Letters and cards written by her daughter. She recognised the handwriting, so much like her own. Such a rare treasure trove, from a girl whose entire life seem to be online, who could hardly be bothered to send a single Christmas card.

She picked one at random, and squinted at it in the poor light. From the second word, her heart was in her mouth. And then the last two lines. They tore from her a ragged heartfelt cry.

Dearest Kyle,

Thank you so much for yesterday, I’d never eaten oysters before! I thought they’d be slimy but they were nice. And champagne too! I’ve never stayed in a posh hotel before, my dad is far too tight to ever pay for such luxury. And what we did in that huge supersoft bed, my God! It is wonderful to be with a real man, someone who knows how to please a woman.