Steven Grant had been sitting in the front room on his own for two hours. Mary was still in the kitchen with Ethan, talking. Grant hadn’t wanted to be a party to that. He hadn’t yet figured in his own mind what he really wanted to say to his son. What questions he wanted to ask, or what answers he wanted, or hoped, to hear.

Grant was surprised at how relaxed, almost happy, Mary was at the sudden reappearance of their miscreant offspring. He wasn’t feeling quite so at ease. But Ethan was still their boy, Grant knew, and it was a father’s duty to always protect a son.

Wasn’t it?

Yet Grant’s mind remained in turmoil over what he should do.

For starters, they couldn’t keep Ethan holed up in their home forever. For whatever reason, the police were out there, still looking for Ethan. That point had been made clear to both Grant and Mary on more than one occasion. And out there wasn’t some vague expression of location. Right now, the police were literally out there.

Not long ago, as Grant was sitting in the darkened front room, staring out at the nighttime street outside, he’d spotted a car pull up on the road. The man who’d stepped out, his face caught in the streetlight, was DI Jason Barnes. Yet another detective, snooping around. Why always a different one?

Grant hadn’t met Barnes before but he’d seen him in the local paper the other day in a piece about the growing knife crime in the city. He was another murder detective, like Dani Stephens.

When Grant had first spotted Barnes emerge from the car he’d been ready to shout out to Mary. His mouth had been open but then he’d quickly shut it again when Barnes didn’t come onto their drive – as he’d expected – but instead crossed the road and went up Ed Francis’s drive.

Francis had opened the door and hadn’t looked particularly happy to see his visitor, but had nonetheless invited Barnes into the house eventually.

The policeman had been inside Francis’s house for close to an hour before leaving as quietly as he’d turned up. What was all that about? He knew there was something odd going on with Francis; there was something about the man, about his life, that didn’t add up. Yet Grant really didn’t know what the problem with him was, or what he could or should do about it.

Grant was shaken from his tumbling thoughts when a shadow appeared in the doorway. He turned. Ethan. His hands were casually slung into his pockets, but he was standing tall, looking confident and relaxed, like he was in control of this situation now. As though the problems that had been burning inside him for so long were now extinguished, once and for all.