Liam pushes on the chapel door and it creaks open. The windows are high up, so once we’re inside we risk turning on the torch, though Liam shields the light with his palm to soften it, afraid it will signal the man like a beacon and alert him to our whereabouts.

The chapel is chilly, but at least it’s out of the wind. I glance around at the broken pews and the cobwebs clinging to the corners and set the bird in its box down behind the stone font.

A loud scraping sound makes me jump and spin around. But it’s only Liam, shoving one of the pews in front of the door as a barrier. It’s not a particularly sturdy barricade, but better than nothing I suppose. I go to help him and afterwards we look around the chapel’s interior, shining the torch into the dank corners, deciding where best to make our camp.

The torch beam bounces off the altar ahead of us and I notice something sitting on it. ‘What was that?’ I ask Liam.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘Over there,’ I say, pointing. ‘Shine the light.’

He moves the torch’s beam so it lights up the far end of the chapel. There’s definitely something on the altar. We walk down the aisle towards it, unable to make out what it is. As we get closer, though, I see it’s a photograph, propped up against a musty hymnal. It’s of a girl, or a young woman; maybe mid-twenties, possibly younger; with blue eyes and blonde hair. The photo has been torn in half erasing whoever was standing beside her in the photo, but his arm remains around her shoulders. They’re standing on what looks like a mountain with a view of the ocean behind, and the woman is grinning at the camera.

I go to pick it up, but Liam reaches out and snatches my arm, stopping me. I look at him and see his eyes are fixed on the photograph and his expression is one of total terror, as though it’s not a photograph but a poisonous snake.

‘Who is it?’ I ask him. ‘Do you know her?’

Liam doesn’t answer. He just keeps staring at the photograph, open-mouthed and turning paler by the second.

‘Who is it?’ I press, feeling panic starting to rise in my chest.

‘Mia Watkins,’ Liam finally says, his voice barely a whisper.

I glance at the photograph again and then back at Liam. ‘Who’s Mia Watkins?

Liam pulls his focus from the photograph on the altar and turns to me. ‘She was murdered,’ he says. ‘Her and her boyfriend.’

The breath leaves my body in a sharp exhalation. ‘Who killed them?’ I ask.

Liam shrugs, shaking his head. ‘No one was ever arrested.’

‘Was it your case?’