‘Difficult? You just told me someone has confessed to killing my son, our son, and you think it’s difficult. I—’

‘There’s no easy way of doing this, Mark. I had to tell you about this development. We needed to know if you or Billy knew this man.’

I peel my face from Mark’s shoulder. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘It’s a line of inquiry, Claire,’ he says softly, ‘and we need to follow it up.’

‘Is he a paedophile, this Jason Davies?’

‘Billy wasn’t the only child he has confessed to abducting and killing. He mentioned some other names too.’

‘Oh my God.’ I press my hands to my face. My cheeks are wet beneath my fingertips.

Mark says nothing. He is staring at DS Forbes, his lips parted, his eyes flooded with fear.

DS Forbes rocks back onto his heels and looks from Mark to me. ‘It’s very important that you keep this development to yourselves and I’d urge you not to reveal it to anyone beyond your immediate family, particularly not the media, as it could hinder our investigation. You must not attempt to seek retribution or carry out your own inquiries as it could prejudice any future case we might file against this man. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’ Mark’s voice is little more than a whisper.

‘Claire?’ DS Forbes looks at me. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’ll keep you informed about any developments and you should bear in mind that it may take some time. A few weeks at least.’ He looks at Mark again. ‘Have you got any questions? Bearing in mind what I said earlier about information I can’t divulge.’

Mark shakes his head. He looks numb.

‘Claire?’

‘No.’

‘Okay.’ He eases himself up from the chair, groaning as he straightens his legs. ‘I’ll give you both some space now. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to bring you more positive news. Don’t get up,’ he adds, even though both Mark and I are still rooted to the sofa. ‘I’ll let myself out.’

He crosses the living room in six large strides and disappears into the hallway. I grit my teeth and dig my nails into the palms of my hands but there’s no holding back the tidal wave of grief building inside me and I howl with pain.

Chapter 29

Jake and Kira stumble through the back door at 11.12 p.m., giggling and shushing each other. There’s a low thump, then a squeak of wood on tiles as though one of them has knocked against the kitchen table.

‘Shit,’ Jake shouts. ‘I dropped my kebab.’

‘It’ll probably taste nicer.’