Seeing her body start to shake, I go over and put an arm around her, both of us standing there watching a flurry of snowflakes in the glow of the outside light. ‘I don’t know. It’s only been four days. Most likely she’s at someone’s house somewhere, if she’s run away.’ I break off because no-one knows for sure where Hollie is and because in these freezing temperatures if she’s without shelter, the more time that passes, the more worrying her absence becomes.

‘I’m scared.’ Niamh’s voice trembles as she wraps skinny arms around her body. ‘I want to know where she is.’

‘I know.’ I feel exactly the same. ‘How do you and Hollie usually keep in touch?’

‘Messenger,’ Niamh says briefly. ‘Sometimes Instagram. But, you know … Mostly, she just turns up.’

‘Yes.’ That’s exactly how it is with Hollie. She’ll just arrive, unplanned, staying a few minutes or a few hours. ‘Listen, I know you’re worried. We all are. But the police are doing everything they can.’ I place an arm around her shoulders. ‘She’ll be OK. We have to believe that she will turn up.’

But it’s getting less likely. And not all missing teenagers are found. The headline I read on one of my last flights comes back to me. Only Ten Per Cent of People are Good. If it’s anywhere near accurate, it’s a chilling assessment of humanity and what it’s capable of. People can be cruel and ruthless, thinking only of their own needs, while too many lives are cut short for the most hideous reasons. I swallow, not liking how that makes me feel. Right now, Hollie’s life could be in anyone’s hands.

Chapter Eleven

Jo

And so it goes on, officers knocking on doors throughout the village and searching gardens, woods, fields, and farmyards; finding nothing of any significance.

After leaving the Buckleys’ house, I turn to Emerson. ‘Everyone’s hinting – though no-one’s actually saying – that something was going on with Hollie. What Elise Buckley said, about her missing school and coming around to their house upset. Then Niamh Buckley saying how Hollie often didn’t want to talk about things … If she’s telling the truth, that is.’ I’m thoughtful for a moment. ‘We’re talking about a teenaged girl who lost her mother and whose relationship with her stepmother is adequate, though it doesn’t sound like it’s any stronger than that. It sounds like Hollie’s emotionally fragile.’ I think back to her photograph, and to Stephanie Hampton’s assessment of Hollie as a tortured soul. ‘We need to talk to more of the villagers. In places like this, it’s impossible to keep secrets. Someone somewhere will know something.’