‘Did you see anyone else outside?’ I asked, marvelling at the stupendous dark luck afforded whoever it was spiking the drinks of women in this spate of attacks.

Nathan thought for a moment then shook his head. ‘Has something happened to Meg?’ he asked again.

‘Yes,’ said Wozza. ‘Something happened to Meg.’

After we’d given him the skeleton version of Meg’s attack, Nathan sat at the kitchen table, silent and stunned. As we rose to leave, I remembered how cagey Meg’s mum had been when we asked her about the break-up.

‘Why did you two break up?’ I asked in a gentle voice.

Nathan looked at me. Took a moment to focus, like he was processing the question. ‘It was so dumb,’ he said. ‘She used to come round here all the time. One day, she came round and I was late getting home to meet her here. By the time I got home, she’d gone. When I went round to her place, she said she couldn’t see me anymore. I didn’t know why.’

‘What? So you left her sitting on your front step and she dumped you?’ Wozza asked.

Nathan turned to him. ‘It wasn’t that bad. Dad was home. He let her in.’

I kept my voice casual. ‘What did your dad say happened?’

‘Nothing. He said she just cracked it and left.’

Catching Wozza’s eye, I ended the conversation. We left Nathan alone with his misery.

Walking to the car, Wozza and I discussed Nathan Forester and what we had both just witnessed.

Wozza looked concerned. ‘Do you reckon his dad said something to her?’

‘Or did something to her …’ I let that hang between us.

On the drive back to the station, we both agreed that Nathan’s demeanour suggested he was telling the truth. He had seemed genuinely surprised—then genuinely distressed—when he learned Meg had been attacked, probably right after he left her.

While I didn’t think Nathan had anything to do with it, there was something about the boy that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Was it something he wasn’t telling us? He had a kind of nervous caginess I’d seen all the time in street kids in the city. And what was with that house? What kind of parent was Frank Forester?

Next stop, the pub. The place Meg Mulligan had been when she was taken.

It was late afternoon and there was a biting chill in the air when we stepped out of the car outside the Royal. The grand old pub loomed over the footpath, double-storeyed with wrought-iron balcony railings. A chalkboard outside the front door declared steak to be on the lunch menu today. Inside the pub, a huge fireplace was ablaze with a welcoming fire; it worked with the discreet lighting to cast the place in a warm golden glow.