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Staying on topic was tough for the Piper Parents when they’d run out of helpful things to say in the first ten minutes of the very first FEC meeting. As usual, it degenerated into a maudlin memorial of the missing children, crossed with a non-debate about bringing back hanging. Her list completed, Rice raised her head now and then to say something temperate or technical, but she had nothing new to tell them. That she was allowed to tell, that is. For the moment, the secrecy over the green fibres and the white plastic tape outweighed even the parents’ need to know.

Rice let out a sigh of relief when it was all over. She was usually pretty lax about what she considered overtime, but she always made a meticulous note of the FEC meetings, during which she could feel her life draining away like sand in an hourglass.

Way to spend a Friday night, Lizzie, she thought to herself as she swung the Peugeot around in a neat loop at the end of the road and headed back towards Shipcott.

She thought she might have a drink in the bar before going upstairs in the Red Lion, then quickly discounted the idea. Reynolds would be sure to come and join her and want to talk shop. And she’d long since lost faith in finding anyone else to chat to who wanted to talk about anything but cricket, the price of milk, or the upcoming North Devon Show.

She drove down the hill into Shipcott, past Jonas Holly’s house. A light was on downstairs.

Rice stood on the brake, thought for less than two seconds, then reversed back up the hill and parked the car in front of Jonas’s police Land Rover.

Kate Gulliver was concerned about him, wasn’t she? She was just making sure he was OK.

Wasn’t she?

A security light guided her up the uneven slate path to the front door. She knocked, then got an uncomfortable flashback: slithering on the ice, watching the back of Reynolds’s snow-covered jacket as he pushed open the door.

The horror inside.

Rice shivered.

Jonas Holly opened the door and looked at her as if he didn’t quite recognize her.

That wasn’t flattering.

‘Hi, Jonas,’ she said brightly anyway.

His eyes cleared. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Hello.’

‘I was just passing and wondered if you fancied a drink.’

‘No, thanks,’ he said so fast that for a second she thought he’d said ‘Yes, please.’

‘Oh.’ She felt deflated and stupid – and then slightly angry at his lack of fake manners. He didn’t soften the blow by saying anything else or inviting her in, and her slight anger grew into a defiant decision to have a drink with Jonas Holly, whether he liked it or not.

‘We don’t have to go out. I could just come in for a cuppa.’

This was tougher for him to reject – she could see that – although he still didn’t look keen.

‘Don’t make me beg, Jonas!’

‘Sorry,’ he said, and held the door open.

They bypassed the living room and went straight into the kitchen. The table was cluttered – keys, paperwork, unopened mail – but the rest of the room was reasonably tidy. She’d expected the mayhem of a bachelor.

He put the kettle on, then said, ‘I think we have some wine.’

‘God yes, please. I’ve just come from the bloody Piper Parents’ meeting. I need booze.’

He clinked about behind some cooking oil and then opened a bottle of red. Good. Reynolds was a white-wine drinker. She cleared a space at the kitchen table and took a seat.

Jonas poured himself a glass too, but didn’t join her at the table or raise his glass in answer to her salute, just leaned against a counter.

There was a long silence as she sipped her wine, which was rough and Spanish. He just held his, looking into the glass.

‘Nice,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’

He nodded. The clock ticked. He wasn’t going to say anything. She’d have to start.

‘This case is driving us nuts.’

He nodded slowly. ‘It’s a tough one,’ he said. ‘You don’t love him.’

‘What does that mean?’ Rice was relieved that Jonas had finally allowed himself to become engaged in conversation – even if it was shoptalk.

He shrugged. ‘I guess it means something to him.’

‘The kidnapper?’

‘Yes.’

‘But what?’ said Rice, and took another sip. Encouraging Jonas to fill the gap.

‘I think …’ he started and then stopped. She nodded at him, letting him know she was ready to listen. He put his glass down and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, then took them out again. Nervous.

‘I mean, I can understand in one way.’

‘Understand what?’

‘His anger.’

Rice hid her surprise and sipped her wine while giving another supportive nod.

Jonas continued without further prodding. ‘People. You know.’

She thought that was all she was going to get, but then he sighed and went on.

‘They put their shopping in the boot, the satnavs under the seats. They hide their stereos in the glovebox. Then they leave their children on display like old umbrellas. I mean – their fucking children!’

She blinked in surprise. Jonas picked up his glass and took a mouthful of wine.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘Not at all. I know what you mean.’