‘We only make one,’ Barry replied, looking more and more like a schoolboy sitting in the principal’s office.

‘Have you listened to it?’

‘No, I haven’t. Like I said, Doctor, it wasn’t my case. I have other investigations that demand my time.’

‘But you know what’s on it?’

‘It’s a recording of Fiona Quinn’s phone call to the emergency services,’ the detective replied. ‘It’s the last known trace of her before her disappearance.’

‘And you have never been curious as to what she said?’ Alec asked.

‘No, Doctor, I haven’t.’

After a moment’s thought, Alec attempted another smile and rose to his feet. Barry eased out of his chair, visibly relieved that the whole sorry transaction was over. Alec crossed his study and opened the door. Daylight washed across the floor, reaching like a tide as far as the Persian carpet; its pattern faded and worn like an epitaph, every wash of light leaving it a little less than before.

‘You understand the delicacy of this matter?’ Barry said, having stepped out.

‘Of course, Detective,’ Alec replied. ‘No one shall hear of this. I’m quite adept at keeping secrets, I assure you. I’ll be in touch when I need you again.’

Barry’s eyes widened as these parting words were spoken. It was as though he had just realised, in that moment, the gravity of his actions and the shackles they had cast. So dire was the man’s gambling debt that he had seen only his financial reward, not its ramifications. He wouldn’t tell another soul so long as his livelihood and reputation were at stake. Of this fact Alec was certain as he drew the door closed and turned its key, leaving the detective to drag his fresh chains behind him.

For months he had pursued some means to acquire the file and, more specifically, the only recording in existence of Ms Quinn’s phone call. This was the last loose end – that thread dangling from an otherwise flawless tapestry, now cut.

Alec took his time, teasing himself as he fed the disc into the system. He returned to his desk and there he opened his diary. A red scar was drawn through Detective Barry’s name. It had been a most productive morning. But as much as a celebratory brandy would do well to toast his success, Alec was not his father.

He reclined in his chair and closed his eyes, and only then did the man press play, with the sunlight glazing his grey skin, alone as he always was until Lara’s arrival at the stroke of midday.

‘Emergency services. What is your location and the service you need?’

‘There’s something outside,’ came the reply – whispered, terrified.

‘Miss, please try to stay calm and tell me your location.’

‘It’s at the window. It’s smiling at me.’

2

Morning was night to Ben’s eyes. Darker even without the stars.