Will had not been prepared for Lawrence Hassel. He had thought they would be meeting with a “professor,” a typical dry academic devoid of any shred of humanity. He recalled a psychiatrist who had once been called to collect an escaped mental patient they had apprehended. He had a goatee beard, half glasses, a tweed suit with a waistcoat and a faint German accent, and wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Vienna of the early twentieth century.

A far cry indeed from the man now talking earnestly to Kate.

Although in his late sixties and suffering from some severe and obviously longstanding illness, Lawrence Hassel had a round and kindly face beneath a thick crop of silver hair. More than anything, he reminded Will of Father Christmas.

Kate had been uncommunicative and unresponsive, with a glassy stare and a fixed expression. Within half an hour, Dr Hassel had drawn her out, persuading her to talk — and listen.

Will could have listened to the doctor’s voice all day. After a while, the doctor asked Will if he would mind leaving. There were coffee and biscuits in the reception area, and perhaps he would wait there until Mrs Stonebridge and he had finished.

Sam was waiting for him. They sat in comfortable chairs and sipped coffee. ‘What do you think he will suggest, Sam?’

‘I’m certain that he will want to keep her here. Whether or not she will agree, I can’t say. It would be for the best if she did, you are far from well yourself, and with that poor child still missing . . .’

There was now a full-scale hunt in progress. The police were sifting through dozens of reported sightings, some possibly helpful, others obviously hoaxes or from disturbed people. Will felt ashamed. He had helped no one by totally flipping the night before.

Swifty and Debbie had dragged him off the fen, kicking and screaming like a madman. For a moment during her harangue about Sophie, his wife had become unrecognisable to him. It had been the final straw. A very large brandy had reduced him to tears, thereby restoring some normality. Sam, Matt and Liz had stayed, consoling him, until the early hours of the morning, and when he finally lay down next to his sleeping wife, he was drained, but his old self again.

Sam’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘You do realise that Kate would have to stay here voluntarily, don’t you? He can’t make her stay without sectioning her.’

‘Er, yes, you said yesterday, but I’m sure she won’t want to spend even one night away from her precious house. Do you?’