‘No, my mum was as shocked as anyone. Mum works now – she must be a better liar than we thought. I didn’t really talk to her about it anyway, so I had no idea. Charlie… well, he does his own thing.’

‘What are you studying?’

‘Sociology and criminology,’ Stephanie replied, then caught the look on his face and rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to start eulogising on the criminal mind to you. I don’t know enough to start doing that yet.’

‘Feel free to tell me anything you like. I’m happy to listen.’

‘You’re quite young to be a detective,’ Stephanie said, looking away after a few seconds of staring into his eyes. ‘I was expecting someone older. More weathered.’

‘Give it a couple of years and you won’t recognise me.’

‘Let’s hope you find Emily before then.’

Mark lowered his head, trying to think of something to say to that. Failed. Stephanie eyed him for a second or two more, then picked up two cups and walked past him into the hallway. He waited a moment, then picked up the other cup on the counter and followed her through, mentally logging all the questions he hadn’t asked yet. He paused at the photographs on the wall, seeing Julie’s three children in various stages of their lives. It seemed that the twins had been dressed and groomed identically throughout their early childhood, but diverged once they became teenagers. As he moved past the pictures, crossing each year of their existence as he did so, he could see the obvious similarities between the sisters fade, as they took different paths. Emily, putting on weight and looking darker-eyed with each school year, Stephanie going the opposite way.

The other child – Charlie – seemed to stay much the same over the years. Never smiling. Always a sullen look on his face, much like the one he was wearing in the living room now. As if it was a burden to be anywhere.

Mark stopped at the final picture of the entire family. Julie Burns and her three children, snapped at a table in a restaurant, he guessed. All dolled up, an evening out for some special occasion. There was a balloon on the table, but it was too blurred to read the writing on it. They were all turned towards the camera, varying degrees of happiness spread across their faces.

‘That was taken two months ago,’ Julie Burns said, appearing beside Mark without warning. He shifted his body round a little, looking down at her as she stared at the photograph. ‘My birthday. They took me for a meal in town. It was a lovely night.’

‘Who took the photo?’

‘I think it was the waiter. It was just us. Me and my three kids.’