‘Sharon. It’s Joel Norris. I got here as quick as I could,’ he said, and paused for a response. When nothing came, he spoke again: ‘I went to your house first. Every available officer, uniform, plain-clothed, PCSO, even the civilian investigators, they’re all out looking. We’ve put appeals out locally, direct to the people. Neighbourhood Watch groups are turning out on foot, I’m sure we will—’

‘She’s dead because of me.’ Sharon lifted her head to reveal eyes obscured by her swollen cheeks. Her forehead had a red mark where it had been resting against her forearm.

Joel cleared his throat. ‘This isn’t your fault.’

‘This is all because of me. I swapped those folders and a little girl died. I didn’t take those threats seriously and my little boy … he’s gone.’ She fixed on Joel, her desperation clear. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he? Someone came here to hurt my Callie and they came to my home to hurt my boy. I was right there!’

‘Tell me what happened, Sharon.’

Sharon was shaking her head now, words tumbling from her with the movement. Joel and DS Rose had to step closer to be able to hear.

‘The calls. I told you about the calls. Just after Danny … How he said we were “one down”.’

‘You told me about that one. Were there others?’

‘No!’ Sharon tutted, frustrated at herself, like she couldn’t organise her thoughts to be clear. ‘Before. I got calls before, I told you about them. Then there was the one that made me talk to you. Then the post came this morning and … it was everything all at once. I couldn’t find Jamie and I thought that Callie was …’ She broke off as emotion swept over her. Joel waited. ‘I thought she was dead. I’ve had a bad feeling since that call, I’ve been trying to tell myself that it was nothing, just some sicko trying to get a reaction. We get it a lot, this family I mean, the same reaction to whatever bullshit social media has on us this week. But this time I just knew it was different. Last night … Callie has a folder that hooks on the end of her bed here. It’s got her name on it and it’s supposed to be all her notes. I complained. I was coming in every day and looking at it. The nurses are supposed to check on her at regular times, all through the night, and then write observations, how she looks, how she’s doing, all her temperatures and fluids. I know it’s not for me but I like to come in and see she’s had a good night, to know that people are checking in on her. But they’ve been putting it all on a computer instead …’

‘Callie’s okay?’ DS Rose spoke now, her voice just as hushed.