The surprise showed in Porter’s face. He wondered in what context his name had cropped up.

‘Have you ever lost somebody close to you?’

Porter nodded. ‘I have, yes.’

Alan Simmons said nothing, waiting for Porter to fill the silence. But Porter hated talking about Holly to anyone, let alone a stranger. It was private, personal, and sharing that side of himself wasn’t his style. He hesitated, Holly’s face flashing in his mind. He saw something of his own grief reflected in Simmons’s eyes, and before he had time to think about what he was doing, he started talking.

‘My wife, Holly, a couple of years ago. Hit-and-run on her way back from a parents’ evening at school.’

‘You have children?’

‘No, she was a primary school teacher.’

Alan Simmons’s face softened, as if he sensed his own pain mirrored in Porter. ‘Did they find who did it?’

Porter shook his head. ‘No, they, uhm …’ He cleared his throat, glancing over his shoulder to see how far Styles had got. ‘There were witnesses, but the car had been stolen. No one saw the driver. Found the car abandoned the day after.’

Porter felt his face redden. This was the most he’d talked about her in over a year. Simmons was nodding his head gently, acknowledging the effort it was taking to share the memory.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Detective. That must have been even harder to take.’

Porter nodded at the understatement. ‘We even lifted prints from inside the car, but we didn’t get a match. Whoever they belong to has never been caught.’ He stopped abruptly, not sure where to go from there. Evie Simmons was still alive. The last thing her father needed was to hear a sob story about someone he’d never met while his daughter battled for her own life. What else was there to say? That things would be OK in time? They didn’t feel that way for him, but Alan Simmons needed hope, not hopelessness.

The two men lapsed into silence again. Porter shifted his feet, uncomfortable at having opened up to a man he’d only just met. Simmons spoke after a few seconds.

‘Well, I sincerely hope you’re there when they do.’

Porter chewed on his bottom lip as he considered what that would feel like. He’d imagined that moment so many times. He didn’t know what worried him more, the thought that they might never slip up, or what he might do if they did, and he had a chance to look them in the eye.