A soft knock at the hotel bedroom door was quickly answered by Ulbricht, a balloon of brandy already in his hand. He offered Gillard a drink the moment he arrived, and showed him into the room. The detective was accompanied by Family Liaison Officer Gabby Underwood, a woman trained to deal with the emotional fallout they knew was coming. The top floor suite where the Ulbricht family was staying had been turned into a shrine to their daughter. A dozen framed photographs sat on the grand piano, and on a coffee table sat a laptop with her YouTube channel playing on a loop.

Mrs Ulbricht was already seated, and had just begun to rise when Gillard suggested they should all sit down. ‘I’m afraid we have finally got some news for you.’ He said nothing more for a moment, just watched as the patrician visage of Karl-Otto Ulbricht reddened, crumpled and distended, like time-lapse photography of a dying leaf. His shoulders narrowed, shook and an undulating wheeze squeezed out somewhere from his lungs.

‘A body has been found which we believe to be her,’ Gillard said. ‘I’m very sorry.’

‘My Beatrice, oh my Beatrice,’ he whispered, grasping from the piano a large portrait of his daughter. He embraced it tightly, arms folded around, eyes squeezed shut. Gillard heard a crack, the portrait glass. A glinting shard clinked to the floor by his feet. Lisbeth Ulbricht sat still and pale, her eyes brimming and then overflowing, tears tracking down her handsome face. She had already known. Only her husband had hung on to hope, which had just shattered in his arms.

Wednesday

Rainy Macintosh was doing her usual morning check through the weirdos and loonies who had sent messages to the various helplines. One member of her team had forwarded one email and marked it urgent.

You’ll not get me Craig, but I’ll get you. IC

She recalled that someone signing themselves IC had sent a previous personalised message which she had forwarded to Gillard. Looking back at the reply, she saw that the detective had acknowledged and filed it, but said he was unaware of a personal connection. She walked across to his desk, which was unoccupied, and was told that he wouldn’t be in until midday.

‘Dental appointment,’ Carl Hoskins said.

‘I’ve got this,’ she said, showing him the printout. ‘It’s from a Samsung phone. Seeing as it’s a threat, I could try and trace it.’

‘It’s up to you,’ Hoskins said, clearly indicating that he wouldn’t have bothered. ‘We get lots of that type of shit.’

‘I’ll go and see Rob.’

She found the young research intelligence officer bent over his desk with a huge stack of electronic data requests to look at. She added hers to the pile, but reminded him that it included a threat to Gillard. ‘We’d never forgive ourselves if something happened,’ she said. Getting only a grunt by way of reply, she wandered away muttering sarcastically to herself. ‘Aye, thank you Rainy, I’ll be sure to look into it. Yer wee fucking dobber.’