He said that he did and hung up, realising that he had needed to talk to her for his own sake, not hers. He wondered how Sophie was. Had she slept? Had she had nightmares? Would someone have stayed with her through the night? He hoped so. He was concerned that he had heard nothing from Philip Fauve.

‘It must have been like bedlam at the hospital yesterday,’ Sam said, reassuring him. ‘It’s no wonder the poor chap didn’t call. I’ve been involved in something like this before, and the man would have been inundated with questions. They need to know everything they can about Sophie, in order to assess her properly. He probably didn’t get any rest until the early hours, if then.’

Will nodded miserably. ‘I don’t like to bother him. He has enough on his plate right now. I would just like him to know that I am thinking of them. I wish we could go there.’

‘Not a good idea. We wouldn’t be allowed within a mile of the child. I’m sure he’ll ring when he can. Meanwhile, I suggest we keep busy. Give me some jobs to do, young man. Cleaning, shopping, anything you please, just to get me moving.’

Will looked around him in dismay. The house was a tip. The laundry had overflowed its basket and lay on the bathroom floor. Dust had gathered on every surface and dried mud from the boots of countless policemen caked the carpet and the kitchen floor. How could it have got so bad so quickly?

‘Come on, lad. The two of us can get this sorted by lunchtime. It’ll do you good.’

* * *

By half past one, the washing machine was on its third load, and the house was looking acceptable once more. Sam was busy ironing shirts and doing a perfect job of it. This was nothing less than a miracle considering that a year ago he had been shot and badly injured. To see him now you would never have known it had happened.

Will was checking the fridge and making a list of the provisions that Sam had volunteered to go and fetch that afternoon when the phone rang.