‘You’re absolutely right.’ Joel got even closer, close enough to feel his body heat. ‘But let me tell you what happens now. You’re already under arrest for breach of bail. Later you’re going to be interviewed, where you will have every opportunity to lie in order to save your own skin. Do that and you might get bailed. But this little beauty here, the fact it was hidden, means I now suspect there are other offences on here and I bet I can get a custody sergeant to agree. The fact you’re holding back your code gives me grounds for remand. After all, I don’t know what those offences are – who those victims might be – and I can’t have you running free while I look into it. So, remand means prison and then I put sending-your-phone-off to the bottom of my to-do pile. I suggest you pack a little more than an overnight bag.’

Again Hennershaw looked beyond him, over at DS Rose. He would get no help from her either.

‘There’s nothing on it anyway,’ he stuttered.

‘Of course there isn’t.’

‘Two, seven, zero, eight. My mum’s birthday,’ he mumbled.

‘She must be so proud.’ Joel punched it in. It worked. ‘Thanks. I’ll hand this over to some people I know who can find everything that’s ever been done on it. Including any deletions, scrambling, blackmail of fifteen-year-old girls. That sort of thing.’

Christopher reacted like he had been poked. ‘Blackmail? So that’s what this is all about. I got asked about that already. It was all dropped.’

Joel bent forward, his face as close to Hennershaw as he could manage so he wouldn’t miss a single one of his hissed words. ‘Hannah Ribbons never dropped it, not for a fucking moment. You understand? She knows what you are, she knows what you did. She’s the reason we’re here, she’s the reason for the search team, she’s the reason none us will rest until you answer for what you did.’

Hennershaw’s lips twitched then bumped together. If he had a reply it was stuck somewhere inside him. Joel could feel his phone ringing in his pocket anyway. He straightened up, his eye still on Hennershaw, enjoying every moment of his suffering.

‘DI Norris,’ he said.

‘He’s gone! I don’t know what to do!’ A woman’s voice, upset, barely able to speak through a sob that became a wail. Joel moved now, away from the piece of shit seated in front of him, out through the front door and into the freshness of the early morning.

‘Who is this?’ Joel said, ‘who’s gone?’

‘It’s Sharon, Sharon Evans …’ Another sob, then a distorted voice like her head had fallen forward and her lips were pressed up against the mouthpiece. ‘He’s gone … Jamie … I can’t find him!’