Focusing on the plume of smoke escaping the chimney stack, he had trudged on to Ivy Cottage. His sanctuary. He had gone there on autopilot, hoping for another glimpse of the little girl. The weather had turned so suddenly; she wouldn’t be playing outside tonight. Come to think of it, he’d not seen her playing outside in months. He checked his watch – not too late for a house call. Pausing, he pulled a hanky from his pocket and blew his nose. He knocked back a quick swig of whisky before tainting the taste with a mint.

The absence of Martin’s car told him all he needed to know. Good. He had followed Lloyd around all day with that bloody camcorder, on what should have been Grace’s special day. If Joanne hadn’t gone to so much effort to arrange the party, he would never have got an invitation. But Martin knew the real motive behind Lloyd’s interest in Grace, and Lloyd hadn’t been able to get five minutes with her alone.

He tapped on the front door, his signature rat-tat-tat-tat . . . tat-tat. Evening time was the best. Not just because he was off duty, but because Susan was more relaxed about letting Grace out of her room once the light had faded from the sky. He needed to see her today. She was his flower in the desert, the one person who could put a smile on his haggard face.

He listened as Susan shuffled in the darkness, her Irish accent soft as she mumbled beneath her breath. There was very little about this woman that aligned with his old friend. She was kind but a worrier, both needy and wary, because she couldn’t trust her own mind. What sort of person had to rely on a scrap of paper to tell them who was friend or foe? When part of her brain died, it took the best of her. The last time she’d seen him, they’d parted on bad terms. He’d been added to the naughty list.

‘Who’s there?’ She spoke from behind the door. She had obviously forgotten his knock.

‘It’s me, Lloyd. Are you going to leave me to freeze to death out here?’

‘I . . . I don’t know.’ Susan sounded like her head was pressed against the door. ‘It’s late. Martin said I wasn’t to let anyone in when he’s not around . . . not any more.’

Lloyd’s eye twitched at the sound of this instruction. His thoughts went to the hip flask. Another swig would take the edge off things right now.

‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said, resting his hands under his armpits for warmth. ‘But we need to talk. Something’s wrong and I’m not leaving until I find out what it is.’