“That’s quite all right,” said Mrs. Hardcastle. “Now, you were asking about the admission records for Adam Stanton—is that correct?”

“Yes,” said Wildeve, although she was already tuning out because it no longer mattered.

The head teacher lowered her voice. “Strictly speaking, under data protection rules, we’re not supposed to hold any such records.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” said Wildeve.

“In which case,” said Mrs. Hardcastle, sounding relieved, “we do appear to have some old files that I’ve found in storage. Your hunch was right. Adam Stanton did join our school in 1980.”

“Thank you,” said Wildeve, although she could no longer remember why it had seemed so important to confirm the dates her husband had attended primary school.

The head teacher sounded uncomfortable. “I’m so sorry to hear what happened to him. I wasn’t here when he was a pupil, of course. But my mother’s brother-in-law was headmaster at the time and followed his police career closely. We were proud of him.”

“Thank you.” Wildeve could see the others beckoning to her, the door to the pub opening, filled with all the friends and colleagues whose lives Adam had brushed up against. Drinking and laughing. Remembering.

“Of course, it’s such a tragedy, isn’t it? Two boys from the same class and both killed by the same man.”

“Excuse me?” said Wildeve, her senses sharpening.

“Adam and his friend Joby Clifton.”

Wildeve frowned, trying to absorb this revelation. Trying to fit the puzzle together, to work out what the pieces meant.

“They were at school together?”

“That’s right. Thick as thieves, my mother’s brother-in-law said. He remembers them because they both wanted to be policemen. Knocked at his office after school one afternoon, asking if they were too young to sign up, wanting to right the wrongs of the world.” An indulgent chuckle. “Joby left soon afterward. That was the last the school heard of him until now.”

Two ten-year-old boys, trying to make a teacher notice them. Trying to make themselves heard. “I’d like to connect with old friends, Wild.” That’s what he’d said when they moved back here.

That’s why Adam had gone back to The Avenue. Trying to trace his old friend Joby. Trying to find out where he was now. He just hadn’t mentioned his name.

When Joby had failed to materialize at the school reunion, Adam had searched the electoral roll and run credit checks, but Joby had disappeared off the face of the earth. And when the trail went cold, where else would he try but the place where Joby used to live?

Adam must have remembered that his friend’s parents had run a toyshop. The disappearances of Joby and Bridget Sawyer had triggered his suspicion of Cooper Clifton.

Across the road, Mac loosened his black tie. She watched him say something to Peggy and start back toward her.

Something was niggling at her.