Surely such an insult was at the top of Miller’s list of ‘barbs’ – things you just didn’t say to a kidnapper – but nobody was worried this time. Sure enough, the kidnapper’s laughter bellowed out of the speakers. One of the detectives tossed down his pen. ‘This idiot’s just playing with us.’

The second voice said:

‘No more games, Baltazar.’

Another laugh.

‘Wow, now your police have two names to check. Okay, no more games, Nick. Get my money and get to the train station. Platform 2. Toss this phone down a grate outside. You’ll find another in the bin at the train station. And from now on don’t say a word unless you have to. No more hinting for the police, or I’ll turn your kid inside out. Let’s see if I’m joking about that.’

‘What are you doing?’

Anna spun at the sound of the voice. Bennet was in the kitchen doorway, watching her. Anna put down the kettle and tossed a small sewing needle beside it.

‘Killing time,’ she told the detective. ‘This isn’t easy for me.’

He nodded and stepped closer, wielding his phone. He showed a picture of a young guy and she instantly recognised the man last seen in a grainy still image from CCTV in a B&B. This was a high-quality face-and-shoulders shot, though: he was surely no more than twenty, ponytail and shaved sides ginger, and had patchy skin with teeth to match. The ginger hair immediately made her picture how Josie might look when his age. Bennet asked if she recognised him.

‘No. This is a – what is it called, a mugshot? From the police. So you’ve arrested this man? Did this man take my daughter?’

He explained. The team watching the B&B for the man known as Dom had decided it was worth risking a peek inside his room. A spare key got them inside, where they fingerprinted a fidget spinner found on the bed and achieved a hit. Bennet just got the news seconds ago. The guy had been arrested for affray a few years back.

‘And Dom’s his real name. Dominic Watson-Bruce, nineteen years old, from Northampton—’

There was a yelp as Anna, turning to replace the kettle, caught it on the edge of the worktop and dropped it. It hit the floor with a clump and vomited water across her leg.

‘Wow, are you okay?’ he said, grabbing a tea towel from the worktop.

She snatched it off him.

‘Fine, it’s not boiling.’ Bending to rub at her wet jeans, she added, ‘I don’t know that name or anyone from Northampton.’