‘I’m telling you he was in Scotland.’ Mrs Ballard is just muttering. ‘I saw a picture on Facebook. Tim in Scotland. You’re wrong . . .’

I am staring at Matthew, bile suddenly in my mouth.

‘Tim has been devastated over Anna. He has always adored her . . .’ Mrs Ballard continues to babble. ‘No. No. Tim was in Scotland.’ All confusion. All terrible and dreadful confusion as Matthew takes out his mobile . . .

He is all sharp focus, and I am both impressed and somehow terrified by this – Matthew’s tone so clipped and urgent and fuelling the terrible dread inside me. He has his contact Melanie Sanders on the phone and is running conversations in stereo.

‘I’ll explain later. New key suspect, Anna Ballard case. Family friend. We have to get round there right now, Mel . . . Tim – what’s his surname?’ He has turned to bark the question at Mrs Ballard, who is still dazed, muttering about how wrong we are. That Tim has always worshipped Anna. Ever since they were little.

‘Tim’s surname. And address . . . now, Mrs Ballard.’

‘Blackhouse. Ryder Lane . . . I can’t remember the number . . . He’s a nice boy, a nice boy. I tell you. You’re wrong about this.’

‘Tim Blackhouse. Ryder Lane. Same village . . . Stay on the line, Mel, and I’ll tell you more as I get it. He was on the train to London with Anna. Other end of the train. Lied about being in Scotland . . .’

There is a pause as Matthew listens . . .

‘Don’t know, Mel. Hang on . . . Is there anyone who might know where Tim is today? If he’s not home. This is urgent, Mrs Ballard. Look at me, please. Really urgent . . .’

‘Jenny, I suppose. Jenny might know. She’s upstairs watching a film. I didn’t want her down here while I talked to you . . . I don’t want her upset.’

‘Call her down. Right now.’

Two minutes later and Jenny, taller and darker than her sister, is standing in the doorway, all angry, confrontational body language. Arms folded.

‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m an investigator, Jenny, and I need to know urgently how to find your friend Tim. I don’t have time to explain. Do you know where he is today?’

‘Devon.’

‘Where in Devon? Why is he there?’

She shrugs at first. Pulls a face. Uncooperative. ‘What’s it to you?’ ‘This is really important, Jenny. The police need to know urgently.’

‘Dunno exactly. About a job. He didn’t say. Someone he met at the Ten Tors. He’s been on and on about it lately . . .’

‘About what? The job?’

And now there is a cold tremor through me. I am staring at the photograph from the Ten Tors. The date confirms it was the same year as Luke.

Confusion. A frown.

I am thinking suddenly of that map-magnifier that I found on the floor by the shop. It was given to all of them. All the teams who made good time. Dear God . . .

‘No. The Ten Tors. He’s been going on about the Ten Tors.’ Jenny’s voice, still angry.

I am standing up again now. Bile in the back of my throat.

‘What job?’ The panic in my voice makes everyone turn towards me. ‘Some shop. He didn’t say where. Look – he’s been very upset lately,

OK? You need to leave him alone. Leave us all alone.’

‘Look, Jenny.’ Matthew’s tone is firm. ‘I don’t mean to frighten you, but this is about Anna. And we need to find Tim very, very urgently. Why has he been upset?’

‘He was getting out all the old photos. Of when he did the Ten Tors with Anna and everyone. He was looking for someone in the photos. Some boy he reckons Anna fancied. I don’t know why. I told him to leave it. Look – he’s just upset, OK? We’re all upset . . .’

‘Luke . . .’ It comes out like a cry for help. I want to be gone. In the car. I have to get back to him . . . I start to move towards the door. I don’t understand this . . . It makes absolutely no sense, any of this. But I have to get back to him. And suddenly I can see them all milling about. Hundreds of them. I am looking again at the photograph and can see it. Anna getting her medal. All of them getting their medals . . . Luke. Tim. Everyone laughing. Everyone so happy.

‘My son Luke. He did the Ten Tors. The same year. He’s at the shop. On his own. Luke. We have to go, Matthew . . .’

‘Stop, Ella. Talk to me. Look at me.’

‘He’s seeing some people about taking over his job. Oh dear God. He said they were from a Ten Tors Facebook group. And I found something

outside the shop, Matthew. I thought it was Luke’s. But I’m worried now . . .’ ‘Right. Ring him. Ring Luke now on his mobile.’

I do as I am told, my hand trembling. Come on, come on, Luke.

‘There’s no answer.’ I turn to Matthew, heart pounding. The taste of bile still. All the muscles in my face hurting. Not understanding . . . Luke’s voicemail in my ear.

‘Try the shop line. Try to stay calm. Try to keep your voice calm, Ella

. . . Did your son know Anna?’

‘No. No. Definitely not. I mean – he would have said . . .’ I am looking at the date on the photograph. The same year . . .

I dial again as Matthew is talking once more to Melanie Sanders. ‘Right – long shot, Mel. But Tim may be at the witness Ella Longfield’s flower shop. Trundale High Street. Her son’s alone there, Mel. He’s called Luke. I’d call it in as urgent. But no sirens . . .’

‘I don’t understand . . .’ I am the one now muttering. The line is ringing but no answer. ‘My Luke? Why my Luke . . . ? I don’t understand any of this.’