She spoke in such a strange, hollow tone that Lloyd wondered if she’d recognised him. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. It wouldn’t be the first time he was seeing things. The person before him seemed a shadow of the woman he once knew.

‘I wondered if you’d pay a visit,’ she said, giving him a shy smile. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and a bit of the old Susan came back. She was in there, somewhere, but the faded scar running across the side of her forehead was new. Susan’s cheeks flushed from the weight of his stare. ‘You caught me on a bad day,’ she said. ‘I need to run a brush through my hair.’ She led him down the dark hallway, a slight limp in her gait.

Lloyd instinctively reached out to turn on the light.

‘No lights,’ she whispered harshly. ‘Not today.’

He inhaled a breath, the smell of bleach emanating throughout the house now eye-wateringly strong. There was only one other time he’d been to a scene where the use of cleaning fluids had been so prevalent, and that turned out to be a crime scene. He expected such things from his previous borough in London where he’d served for a few years, but not back home in the New Forest. Perpetrators came in all shapes and sizes and he glanced at the woman with a cautious eye. Was this why she was looking at him with the eyes of a stranger? Was it because she saw only the uniform?

As she directed him into the living room, Lloyd wondered if Susan was mentally ill. But the last he’d heard she was working as a nurse in Great Ormond Street Hospital. The fire in the hearth was roaring and it was enough to light up the room. He cast his eyes around the space. Where was the little girl? The windows were covered with blankets tucked over the curtains to seal any cracks of light. Had Susan lost her mind?

‘Is everything OK?’ he said in a smooth, calming voice. The fear in her eyes when she answered the door seemed at odds with the situation. It was as if the big bad wolf had come knocking.

‘Everything’s fine.’ She gestured towards a chair next to the fire. ‘Take the weight off your feet.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘You can spare the time . . . can’t you?’

‘Yeah, of course. I just came by to introduce myself . . .’ The floorboard creaked as he shifted his stance. ‘I didn’t know you lived here.’

Susan carried a twinkle in her eye. ‘And you don’t know the full story, which is why you’re looking at me like I’m mad.’

The living room was minimally furnished, with no toys or dolls to get in the way. There were no family photos on the wall. No evidence of the little girl.