He – fool that he is – answers right away. He sounds terrible. Poor petal.

‘Guy,’ he says. ‘How are you?’

‘How are you, more like?’ I say.

‘Been better,’ he says. ‘Although there was some news today.’

Here it comes.

‘News?’ I make myself sound eager. ‘What happened?’

‘They found the van,’ he says.

It is like I have been hit with a sledgehammer.

‘And it has DNA in it. The kidnapper’s. At least they think so.’

Another blow. My mind spins. I am dizzy.

‘What?’ I say. My shock – I cannot hide it – is in my voice. ‘What?’

‘I know,’ he says. Thankfully he is too idiotic to interpret my tone correctly. ‘It’s amazing news. They’re testing everybody’s DNA. If it’s someone we know, they’ll find them, Guy. This could be over!’

‘That’s the best news we could have had,’ I say. ‘Apart from actually finding Annabelle.’

‘I’m not getting my hopes up,’ he says. ‘Not yet. I can’t face the disappointment.’

‘Wise,’ I say, knowing full well that disappointment is exactly what he faces. ‘But this is wonderful, Matt. It truly is. Thanks for telling me. I’m very glad I know.’

For once I am telling him the truth.

2

I am struggling to think. My chest feels tight, and my heart is beating quickly. This is, I think, panic.

And I do not like it.

I take a deep breath and start to lay out the facts.

They have found my van and in it, DNA which may be mine.

It may not, of course, but I have to assume that it is. I have to proceed on that basis. So they have my DNA and it is linked to the van Annabelle and her children were kept in.

Once they test me, they will know who took Annabelle. This is incontrovertible evidence. I will not be able to argue my way out of this.

So I cannot let them test me. I have to avoid it, at all costs.

Which is impossible. Maybe tomorrow I can say I am ill, but that will merely delay it, and it may not even do that. It may make them suspicious.

So I have to let them test me, but find a way to stop them getting a good test.

Maybe I can give them someone else’s DNA. I picture the scene. A police officer – maybe two – in my office, a test kit in his hand. He swabs the inside of my cheek. They have rules and protocols and evidence integrity shit that they do.

The idea I can fake the test is ludicrous.

So I have to avoid it.

Which means we will have to disappear. That is not impossible. I will have to think through the details, but it can be done.