And, as he’d later discovered, the Nottinghamshire police had thought so too. Except they’d found it impossible even to question Daniel as a suspect—such was the power of the public’s support, the press’s attention. Daniel had built a narrative around Billie as a working-class child, claiming that people never cared about kids like her, that deep down everybody believed her family must have brought it on themselves. Donations poured in from individuals anxious to show they weren’t like that.

The donations had soared each time the police had interviewed either Daniel or Nathalie too. The papers went to town on police prejudice, victimization of a suffering family. Daniel had managed to secure a forcefield around himself and his sister, strong enough to make the police back away.

They never took their eye off Daniel, though. Never stopped attempting to monitor his Find Our Beautiful Billie fund, wondering what all that cash was really being used for, whether Beautiful Billie had suffered something terrible at the hands of her doting uncle. Several years on, when Paul had finished his undercover training, he’d been approached by DI Tom Glover about a job he’d thought Paul would be perfect for.

Not drugs or gangs or activists, like most UC assignments. This was a missing-child case that couldn’t be solved with traditional methods. It involved getting close to a family, and it was sensitive, needed to be handled just right . . .

Now a noise broke Paul’s thoughts, making him leap back from the attic window, then freeze in place.

A car door slamming out front. Footsteps and the jangle of keys.

33.

KATE

Twenty-five years earlier

I crush two pills in advance, shake the white powder into a little tub that previously held cotton buds, and hide it in my pocket. When I give Becca the nod, she pauses and I think for a moment that she’s going to back out. Leave me alone with this plan after all. But I know she won’t, really, know her instinct to stand by me is too strong. She sucks in a breath and lets out an impressive shriek. There’s a delay, then the sound of Nick’s footsteps.

He bursts into my room. “What’s going on?”

Becca hops onto the bed. “Spider!”

He rolls his eyes. “Thought someone had been killed.”

“Oh, God, I can’t stand them. Think it crawled under the bed. I won’t be able to relax until I know it’s gone.”

“Good Lord,” Nick grumbles, but he’s in the right mood to be the hero. He grabs an empty tumbler from the bedside table and drops to his knees.

He’s soon absorbed in his mission, so I sidle out, catching Becca’s eye as I go. I need to work fast, don’t want to leave them alone for too long. Can’t rely on Nick’s good mood lasting.