True, very true. And she’s right, if the mad woman sees the cops arriving, she might harm Amber. Oh Amber, hang in there, baby.

The city’s hangover is reflected in its silence. Traffic is almost non-existent. Elsie told us she followed the woman who’d been staring into the salon two days in a row to the back of Christchurch cathedral. Here, she saw her enter a blue door. A door Elsie believes leads to apartments. We’ll soon find out. I’m beyond myself, existing out of my mind. Words of comfort and support fly past me. I stare out the window. Oh God. Help me help to find Amber.

The city looks like a picture postcard. Blue sky, white bridge, green river. We cross the bridge. Donna is being very liberal with the rules of the road, ignoring lights, signposts, directions. She tells us the gun in her pocket was a present from her husband four years earlier, for security reasons, to scare any potential intruder off the premises. He never gave her any bullets though. ‘He knew better,’ she said. ‘If he had, he’d have got one back by now, via the chamber.’

‘Up here.’ Elsie points towards a little side street. We see red bricks, coloured doors, sash windows and many entrances to the apartments lining both sides of the street.

‘That one,’ she says, pointing at a blue door. My heart sinks. Is Amber somewhere behind that door? Craning my neck, I look out the window to the top of the building. There must be at least four floors of apartments. How the hell will I find out where she is?

Elsie gets out of the car first, the look of a homeless person gone without her two bags weighing her down.

We’re all out of the car now, standing, heads tilted, staring at the building in front of us. Is it possible Amber is behind one of those windows?

Could it be that one? The one with the white shutters just like her doll’s house. My body shivers.

In the corner of my eye I see Marie whispering to Donna.

‘No, I’m coming,’ I say, guessing what they’re saying.

‘But Sally, what if…?’

‘What if what, Marie? What if Amber is dead? Don’t you think I’ve thought about that?’ I have thought about it, Amber lying dead on a floor, Amber in a coffin. A part of my brain has not been able to ignore this outcome since my baby went missing.

I try to shut it down, push it away but it keeps coming back. What if Amber is dead?

Everyone looks at me, silently, the reality bringing a lot more gravity to the situation. ‘Okay, what’s the plan?’