Robin takes a step forward towards the van. Everyone is silent. He glances back and catches Josie’s eye. She’s standing with Sandra’s arm round her, her face drawn. Sophie is next to them, looking stunned.

He turns back. The easiest way in is through the main double doors at the back, so he heads towards them. He can feel his hands shaking slightly; he’s not sure whether it’s anticipation or the fact that he hasn’t eaten all day. He takes a long breath in, then reaches forward and knocks on the door.

The loud metallic bang bounces around the car park.

‘Finn? It’s me, it’s Robin.’ There is no noise from inside, so he tries the handle. It’s still locked. ‘Finn, please. Let me in. I can help you.’

He hears movement from inside. The sound of someone shuffling closer to the door.

‘You can’t help me.’ Whispered, close to where Robin is standing.

‘You trust me, don’t you?’ Robin says. ‘Finn? You know me, I wouldn’t lie to you.’

Robin hears the almost imperceptible sound of metal against metal. He stops and listens. The lock being pulled open.

He glances back towards Craig. She makes a sign with her hands, urging him to go in. Robin reaches forward and pulls at the handle; this time it moves. The door clicks open.

He pulls it towards him and pokes his head inside. The first thing he notices is the smell – the unmistakable odour of a dead body heating up in a warm van all day. The second thing is the blood. It’s all over the floor, smeared up the walls, across the window.

‘Finn?’ he says quietly. ‘Can I come in?’

There’s a pause. He tries to look inside but can’t see him. Then he hears a voice.

‘Just you,’ it croaks.

He pushes the door open further and carefully steps up into the van. He has to stoop to get inside. It feels claustrophobic, anxiety-inducing, and that’s even before Robin considers what’s in front of him. On the metal floor is a prone figure. Stained with dark red, it is almost unrecognisable as a person. It looks like it has been dipped in blood, clothes ingrained, skin stained. Robin looks down at the body, following the torso up to the head. Wide-open eyes, blank.

His neck is in pieces, sinew and muscle visible. Eyes stare upwards. Glazed. A large gash runs horizontally from his throat to the right-hand side of his face; Robin can see the white of the jawbone and the tendons in his neck.

A pool of blood lies under a small table. How much is actually left in him? Robin wonders. Not much.

‘Finn?’ Robin whispers. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m here,’ he says.