She looked so beautiful. As he looked down on her laying there he could hardly believe how beautiful she actually looked. His daughter. His world. It had been her eighth birthday just two days ago and he smiled as he remembered how excited she had been as she had torn the wrapping paper from the huge box in the centre of the living room. How she had run across the room, tears streaming down her face as the box opened to reveal her brand new bicycle. How she had thrown herself at both of them sitting on the sofa, her arms flung wide.

“Mummy, Daddy, thank you so much. You are the best. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Then she had gone. Back to the bike, ripping the box apart to reveal the object in all its glory. It was bright red, gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the living room window. It was a hybrid bike, designed to go both on and off road with big, thick, knobbly tyres. Most importantly, though, was the fact that it had gears. Real gears. That was what she had really wanted, ever since she had learned to ride. A bike with real gears.

It had been an expensive bike, too. But she was worth it. On top of which it had been all part of his and his wife’s celebration of his promotion, which he had learned of only two weeks previously. Not just an ordinary promotion, either. After ten years of solid, hard work for the company he had been made into a junior partner with the promise of a full partnership in another two years. He had made it. Finally. Life was good.

He had opened the patio doors and they had both watched, amused, as she had dragged the bike through to the back garden leaving a trail of shredded wrapping paper and bits of box in her wake.

“Come and watch me in the garden,” she had insisted, her voice trailing away as she disappeared through the doorway. “I want you to see me ride it.”

He had put his arm around Tina and pulled her close, kissing her softly on the forehead.

“I think she likes it,” he had said. “Thank you, my darling.”

“For what?” she said, looking up at him, quizzically.

“For believing in me. For being there for me. For her. For loving me.”

She looked up at him and smiled. She reached up and touched his cheek, softly, tenderly and slowly pulled his head towards her. She kissed him, gently at first, then with more passion, opening her mouth and touching his tongue with hers, their tongues performing an erotic dance in each other’s mouths.

“Yuck. That’s disgusting!” had come a voice from the doorway. “I have been waiting for you for ages. Come and watch me on my bike.”

They had all laughed then, and just to remind them not to start again, she had run across the room, grabbed his hand and dragged him into the garden to watch her.

Now, here he was looking down at her. Her eyes closed, her long blonde hair spread out, framing her soft, beautiful face. The sheet was pulled up and folded just under her chin, as she always had it.

He was suddenly aware of someone shuffling behind him and there was a small cough. A man’s cough.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the man’s voice, “Is it her?”

He nodded slowly. Unable to speak. Nor to take his eyes off her.

“I am so sorry, sir,” said the man from behind him. He was aware that the man had now moved around the trolley on which his daughter lay and was starting to lift the sheet to cover her face. Instinctively he reached out and grabbed the man’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“I’ll do it,” he said hoarsely.

“Of course. Would you like me to leave you alone for a few minutes?” The man had a kindly face with soft, sympathetic eyes.

He had nodded and the man left the room almost silently, the only noise being the soft click of the door catch as he closed the door.

Now the tears came. His eyes filled with water, stinging, salty water, before it overflowed and cascaded down his cheeks, dripping onto the white sheet that covered his daughter. His dead daughter. He could hear the slightly metallic ting as his tears hit the cold metal of the trolley on which she now lay, occasionally muffled by the crisp white sheet.

This was the moment he had dreaded. Feared more than anything else since that frantic phone call from Tina yesterday morning. Through broken sobs she had tried to explain. She had only lost sight of her for a minute as she had stopped to chat to a friend. When she had turned the corner where the coffee shop stood she had expected to see their daughter on the next corner where she always waited, but she wasn’t there. Tina had told him she had hunted high and low for her in the nearby streets, had run frantically to the school, but to no avail. Their daughter could not be found. Anywhere. By now she had been in such a state that the school secretary had been the one to phone him initially, to tell him she was there, before passing the phone across to her.

“I’m so sorry,” she had kept saying, “it’s my fault.”

He had struggled for nearly five minutes to calm her down before he had got the full story from her. Knowing full well that she was in no fit state to organise anything, he had asked her to give the phone back to the secretary who had, in turn, put his call through to the head teacher. He had explained to the Head exactly what had happened, as far as he knew it, and within minutes the Head had agreed to despatch all the available spare teachers into the surrounding streets to search for her. The Head herself would contact the police whilst he made his way to the school from work and ask for their assistance.

His boss had been fantastic, instructing one of the company drivers to stop everything else he was due to do and give him a lift to the school.

“You can’t go home on the train,” she had said. “I’ll get Eddie to drive you. Don’t worry about anything here. Does your secretary have all the details of your appointments today?”

“She does.”

“Then we shall spread them around the rest of the team. I’ll do some myself, too. You just go home and find your little girl and, when you do, give her a big hug from me.” She had patted his hand gently, her heart going out to this poor man. “Good luck.”

He had arrived at the school to find his wife being comforted by two police officers and the Head teacher. Tina had thrown herself into his open arms, her tears dampening his suit jacket. He had held her tight, trying hard to keep his own emotions in check. The Head had explained that, so far, there had been no sighting of his daughter, but there were still seven teachers out on the streets looking for her, all of whom were in contact with each other and the school on the school radios. One of the police officers had spoken to him, too. There were apparently three police vehicles in the area already looking for her and both the neighbouring boroughs had been informed of her disappearance. Disappearance. The word made his blood run cold. His daughter, his beautiful Beth, disappeared. Gently, he had released himself from Tina’s vice-like grip and had sat next to her in the large leather sofa in the Head teacher’s office. The two police officers sat opposite them and filled in a long form, asking seemingly endless questions about his daughter. Why were they not out searching for her instead of asking stupid questions?

“We need as much information as we can get, sir.”

He hadn’t realised he had actually asked the question out loud.

“The more information we get from you at this stage,” the policeman continued, “the more focused we can be in our searches.”

“Of course,” he had said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask the question out loud. Please continue. I just want my Beth back.”

“I know you do, sir. We will find her. I know this is hard for you both, but we are doing everything we can to find her, believe me.”

There had been more questions and then the police officer had shown him a photograph. He tried so hard, but he couldn’t stop the single tear rolling down his cheek when he saw her beautiful, happy, carefree, smiling face looking back at him from the photograph. It was the school photo taken only about four weeks ago that the school had kept in its file.

“Are you happy for us to use the photograph to hand copies around to all our officers, sir? It will help us to identify her if… when we find her.”

“Of course you can use it. Just find her. Please.”

The police had taken them both home then, though neither of them really wanted to be there. The police officer explained that it would be better if they stayed at home so that they could both be contacted when they had more news. Reluctantly, they had agreed to stay at home, but had insisted on showing the officers the route that they took each morning to school and Tina had identified the street corner on which Beth would normally have waited.

Once indoors, one of the officers had made them both a cup of tea whilst the other officer had made a long phone call to his control room. Then the officers had left, leaving them alone. Both lost in their own thoughts. Tina sobbed almost endlessly, blaming herself. If only she had been watching her all the time, he kept thinking, none of this would have happened. No. He mustn’t think like that. They needed to be strong. Together.

After nearly two hours, during which he had phoned around all of her friends, he still had no idea of her whereabouts. He had made all the parents he had been able to contact promise him that they would call as soon as they learned anything and any that were staying local assured him that they would keep an eye out for her. After the last call he had flopped down into the armchair opposite his wife. He had not wanted to sit next to her. He was now struggling with his own emotions and didn’t feel he had the strength to try and comfort her, too.

The sudden, unexpected chime of the doorbell made them both jump. He had rushed from his seat followed closely by Tina and they had nearly sprinted to the front door. They both wanted the same thing: for her to be there, outside, cold and damp, but okay. They hoped beyond hope. They were desperate for it to be her. He turned the handle and flung the door wide, causing the door to smack against the plaster of the hall wall, leaving a small dent.

It wasn’t her. Instead the open door revealed a young man with a startled look on his face. He was smartly dressed in a pale grey suit with highly polished shoes, the toecaps gleaming with a mirror like finish.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling softly.

“Look, whatever it is you are selling just go away, we are not interested…”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the young man, “I know I’m not the person you had hoped to see, but I am here to help you.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out what appeared to be a small black wallet. He opened it to reveal a silver insignia and a photographic card. “I’m Detective Constable William Masterson, Mr Jennings. I have been asked to come and talk to you and act as a liaison between yourselves and the team trying to find your daughter.”

“I am sorry. We didn’t know you were coming. Please come in.”

“That’s quite all right, sir. Apparently, the control room tried to call you to let you know I was on my way, but the phone was, understandably, engaged. I wouldn’t normally be here this early on in a missing person’s enquiry, but I thought it was important to come as soon as possible.”

“Thank you. Would you like a cup of tea, Detective?”

“That would be lovely. Please call me Bill.”

The tea was made in virtual silence. All three of them stood awkwardly, nervously, in the kitchen, the only conversation being to ask Masterson whether he took milk and sugar. He didn’t. Black tea was his preferred option. The girl’s parents turned their noses up in unison at the thought of drinking tea with no milk.

They all filed into the living room and sat in the places they had just left, with Masterson sitting on the sofa next to the missing girl’s mother.

“I know this is really hard for you and I am here to help you in any way I can,” said Masterson. “Please feel free to ask me anything you like at any stage and I will do my best to answer your questions. Okay?”

The parents both nodded.

“Now,” he continued, “I know you went through this long form when you were at the school earlier with the two uniformed officers, and I would just like to run over it again with you and just see if there is anything more we can add to help with our search for your daughter. I should imagine the phone was engaged because you were ringing around all her friends’ parents?”

He nodded.

“No one had seen or heard from her, I take it?”

Jennings shook his head sadly.

The next hour was spent with Masterson going through the missing persons form in fine detail. The uniformed officers had done a very good job in the initial stages and Masterson made a mental note to talk to their Inspector after this was all over and tell him how impressed he had been with their efforts. At the end of the review, the only additional information that Masterson had managed to obtain was the phone numbers of the other parents who knew Beth.

Masterson then excused himself and stepped outside the front door where he phoned the control room to apprise them of the fact that there was no new information to impart. He also spoke to his own Detective Inspector and asked him to put as many officers on to the search as he could muster.

“This is a serious one, Guv,” he had said. “The girl comes from a very happy home, the parents are lovely people, the house is clean and tidy. It was her birthday just a couple of days ago and she was absolutely showered with gifts, including a brand new, expensive bike. I haven’t spoken to the school directly, but I have had a brief chat with the officers who went there and there is no suggestion that she has any problems as far as the school is concerned, she is always bright and cheerful and, apparently, a delight to teach. The father has phoned a number of other parents already and no one has seen hide nor hair of her. I have to say, boss, I have a nasty feeling about this one.”

“So do I, Bill, given what you have just told me. Right, I have a copy of the Misper form in front of me and the original school photograph. The Intel Unit has already scanned the picture and I shall get them to produce a quantity of handbills that we shall give out to all the uniformed cars. I shall take all available CID officers off non-urgent enquiries and I shall talk to the superintendent and try and get whatever assistance I can from the surrounding boroughs. I trust your judgement on this one Bill. If you think it’s real, so do I. I will call you back on the mobile and let you know what is happening. In the meantime, keep the parents at home as best you can. If they insist on going out to search, we will put one of them in one of the CID cars, but I don’t really want to do that.”

“Thanks, Guv. I don’t really think either of them is in a fit state to go anywhere at the moment, they are in pieces right now. It shouldn’t be too difficult to keep them here. I’ll speak to you shortly.”

He hung up and walked slowly back inside. This was going to be a very long day. As he walked into the living room the girl’s parents both turned to look at him expectantly, hopefully, desperately. What could he say to them? What could possibly comfort them in such a heartbreaking moment as this?

“We have got everyone we can muster out looking for her. We will find her.” I hope, he thought silently.

They sat in almost complete silence for almost the whole of the next hour. The quiet only broken when Masterson went to the kitchen to make them all another cup of tea. Those were the worst moments for him as a liaison officer, the not knowing. He always tried to allow the missing person’s family to lead the conversation. No one was really interested in talking about the weather or the weekend sporting results or any inane platitudes he might offer, so it was always better to let them talk about what they wanted. Normally, the missing person. Offering to make the tea or some such mundane task, always gave him the opportunity to take a break from such an oppressive atmosphere, albeit only for a brief period of time.

He was just putting his cup to his lips when the mobile phone rang. Excusing himself, he stepped out into the back garden. He didn’t want to be out at the front again, it wouldn’t be too long before people got to hear what was going on and he didn’t want to have to field all the inevitable, awkward questions when he was trying to make phone calls. He checked the display screen before answering – it was his Inspector.

“Bill. Good news on the manpower front. I have an additional 20 CID officers on the way here from the surrounding boroughs, the Territorial Support Group is sending two van-loads down and I have three dog units on the way. I am also waiting for an answer from the dog training school. I know the dogs are not ready for full duties yet, but they could use this to practise their search skills and it gives us a few extra officers out on the streets. The Superintendent has also authorised me to offer overtime to anyone from early turn uniform teams who can stay on to help.”

“That’s great. Have you had much of a response from them?”

“I went to the Duty Officer to tell him and they had beaten me to it. Every early turn officer had already volunteered! I estimate that, by the time everyone is available, I will have around sixty officers on the ground looking for her. I have also got an undertaking from the Missing Persons Bureau that they will have two officers dedicated only to this enquiry for the next 48 hours.”

“Thanks boss. Are you happy for me to be here for the foreseeable future?”

“Of course. Let me know if there is anything you need. I’ll speak to you as soon as I have briefed everyone. As there is no specific area we should look in at this stage I am just going to flood the area paying particular attention to the parks and open spaces. I just hope and pray she was fed up and decided she just didn’t want to go to school today, and we’ll find her playing happily somewhere. Unlikely, I know, given the circumstances of her disappearance, but we can live in hope.”

Over the next few hours the mood in the house changed, becoming more anxious. Masterson noticed that, as time went on, the realisation slowly dawned on the parents that the outcome was unlikely to be a happy one. The school closed for the day and by four o’clock the head teacher had been on the phone to check whether Beth had been found. Masterson had spoken to her himself, and the sadness in her voice echoed his own thoughts. The early turn officers had done as much as they could and by nine that evening they were exhausted. They had been helped for the afternoon by the police helicopter, which had flown constantly overhead, only going away to refuel. The helicopter had passed backwards and forwards over all the open spaces using its thermal imaging camera. At one point it had picked up a heat source deep within a tangle of bushes on some nearby common land but, when the uniformed officers arrived on the scene and picked their way carefully through the undergrowth, all they found was an elderly vagrant, startled at first by being woken so abruptly by a gang of uniformed police officers and then angry that his secret hiding place had been discovered. The officers had left him muttering under his breath as he settled himself back down to sleep. Late that evening the Superintendent had reluctantly given the order for his early turn officers to stand down. None of them had been happy with the idea, but they were all expected back at work at six the following morning and he was supremely aware that they would all need their sleep. He congratulated all the officers on their sterling efforts so far and he promised them that, had the girl not been found by the following morning, he would task as many officers as he could spare with a renewed search.

At midnight, after consulting with his own senior officers and those from the neighbouring boroughs, the superintendent had suspended the search. Overnight the other borough officers and his own would continue the search when time and resources allowed.

Back at the house there had been a succession of visitors. In the main they had been police officers either seeking new information or updating Masterson or the family on the current state of the investigation. Much to Masterson’s relief Jennings’ sister had called the house phone at six that evening. They had all rushed to the phone hoping beyond hope that it would be Beth or at least someone who knew where she was. When it turned out not to be her, neither parent had been able to speak to the person on the other end of the phone and they had passed the receiver to him.

“Hello? Who is this?” said a clipped, cultured voice on the other end of the phone.

“Good evening. I am Detective Constable Masterson and I’m afraid I have some bad news about your niece.”

Twenty minutes after they had hung up, she had arrived on the doorstep.

Masterson was grateful for the new, unexpected, arrival. His experience told him that the length of time the girl had been missing meant that her chances of survival were greatly reduced. If she had just wandered off for a bit of fun then there was a chance for her. Given the circumstances of her disappearance, though, that seemed more than unlikely. Sadly, the likelihood was that she had been taken by force, in which case, the longer it went on the less chance she had of survival. There had been a few instances where a child had been abducted and kept, secluded from the world, for some time, but these instances were few and far between and, without exception had been abroad. He had read about one poor girl recently somewhere in Europe who had been locked away in a makeshift dungeon for nearly nine years! These were very rare occurrences, though. In Masterson’s own experience of such things, once the kidnapper was so tired he had to go to sleep the kidnap victim became a liability. The kidnapper had to be absolutely certain that the victim could not make any noise and attract people’s attention or, worse still, escape and alert the authorities to the kidnapper’s whereabouts whilst he slept. It was easier, then, to kill the victim before sleep. Safer. If he hadn’t already killed her whilst executing his depraved plan.

So the arrival of this woman made Masterson’s job immeasurably easier. On the face of it, she was very calm and collected and would be the ideal conduit through which Masterson could pass information, particularly any bad news, to the parents.

“Hello,” she said as Masterson let her through the front door. “I’m Penny. We spoke on the phone a little while ago. What exactly do we know so far?”

She was a tall, elegant woman. Masterson guessed her age as mid-thirties (she was in fact 39). She held herself upright and in control, though her anxiety and concern were more than evident in her soft, blue eyes. Her face was framed by long dark hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail that hung down past her shoulder blades. Her height was accentuated by the high heels on her knee-length black leather boots into which were tucked her skin-tight pale blue jeans. Masterson had to physically stop himself from staring at her perfect backside. Not the time or the place. Tucked into her jeans was a loose-fitting white gypsy-style blouse with enough buttons undone to hint at what lay beneath, but not enough to actually show you. She had no jacket on, she hadn’t needed it in the expensive-looking car that she had left parked on the drive, and was carrying a large black leather handbag.

Masterson explained to her what had happened so far, he told her about the disappearance of the girl, the enquiries at the school and with her friends and the extent of the police search so far.

“Okay. Thank you,” she said softly. “You are doing a very good job and I know this can’t be easy for you here either. I need to know what you think is the likely outcome of this whole episode so I can prepare myself and be strong for them.” She nodded her head slightly towards the living room door.

“I am hopeful we will find her safe and well in the morning and we can get her back to her Mum and Dad.”

“That’s the official line, I know, but your eyes give you away,” she said. “I’m sorry, it was an unfair question. Thank you, Officer…”

“William. Please call me Bill. I am here as your friend as well as being a police officer.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Bill. I had better go in and see them, now.”

She walked purposefully into the living room and Masterson, staying in the hallway, pulled the door closed behind her, not wanting to intrude on their private moment. The sounds of crying from beyond the door proved that she was having as much difficulty maintaining her composure as the parents were. Masterson slipped off to the kitchen and put the kettle on. They were all going to need another tea – this would be a very long night.

The morning dawned slowly. A grey, drab sunrise gave way to a grey, drab drizzly morning. Masterson hadn’t seen the sunrise, he had nodded off in his seat about an hour beforehand. He had managed to persuade the Jenningses to head off to bed at about two in the morning. They had resisted for a while, but they both knew they were exhausted so had eventually agreed, making Masterson promise that he would wake them the instant he had any news. He had been left downstairs with Penny and they had chatted for a while to pass the time, until Penny had lain down on the sofa and fallen almost instantly asleep. Masterson, alone now, had got up and made himself another tea before returning to the living room. He had turned off the main lights so as not to disturb the sleeping woman and had just left the small standard lamp alight next to his chair. He had spent the next hour topping and tailing his Family Liaison log and taking the opportunity to get everything up to date. Having completed everything he had to do, he felt a wave of tiredness wash over him. He desperately fought the urge to sleep, he wanted to be awake and alert when any calls came through. He wouldn’t get up and take a walk around the house to keep himself awake, he always felt like an intruder invading other people’s privacy whenever he did that, much to the amusement of his colleagues, who had no such qualms themselves. Slowly, inevitably, sleep had overtaken him. His head had started to nod and his eyes felt so heavy. He fought the urge but knew, in spite of himself, that it was a losing battle and eventually sleep enveloped him and his head lolled gently forward until his chin rested on his chest.

Now he was aware of being gently woken from his deep slumber. He could feel a soft hand resting gently on his shoulder, shaking him carefully.

“Bill. Wake up. I’ve brought you a cup of tea.” It was a soft female voice, which puzzled him. He lived alone, why was there a woman in his flat? Suddenly he remembered where he was and he finally woke with a start. His eyes flew open and his head snapped back, his hand instinctively going to his mouth to check he hadn’t been dribbling down his suit front.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to go to sleep. Sorry.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Penny, “you are entitled to sleep just like the rest of us. I thought you would rather be woken before they come downstairs though, and I heard some movement up there just now.”

“Thank you, and thanks for the tea. What time is it?”

“Just after seven and you are very welcome.”

Masterson and Penny sat in silence, drinking their tea, Masterson occasionally and surreptitiously picking the sleep from his eyes whenever Penny wasn’t looking in his direction. His mouth tasted foul, even after the tea, but he didn’t want to go up to the bathroom to clean his teeth whilst the parents were still up there. He slipped a tin of Altoids, ‘the curiously strong mints’, out of his pocket and popped one in his mouth. That would have to do for now. He offered one to Penny, who accepted the proffered mint gratefully. She, too, felt her mouth tasted horrid, but didn’t want to intrude on the couple upstairs.

When they had finished their tea, Masterson decided to call in and get an update on the current state of the investigation into the girl’s disappearance. He unplugged the phone from the charger, he didn’t remember plugging it in, he must have done that last night before he had dropped off to sleep. He dialled the Inspector’s number.

“Morning, Bill,” said his boss, “I was going to call you shortly.”

“Morning, Guv. I hope I haven’t disturbed you at home?”

“No, no. I stayed here in my office last night. Got a few hours kip in the early hours. How about you, have you had a chance to sleep or would you like me to arrange for someone to relieve you?”

“I’m fine here, Boss. I’d rather stay with the family than go through the process of introducing someone new. If that’s okay with you?”

“That’s more than fine with me, Bill. Thank you. Promise me, though, you will let me know when you need to be relieved. You are no use to anyone if you get too tired.”

“I will. If you’re lining someone else up and want to ring them, I think Zac would be the ideal person. I did manage to catch forty winks in the early hours, so I’m feeling okay at the moment.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to Zac when we get off the phone. I suppose you want an update on where we are so far, do you?”

“Thanks,” said Bill. “I know the parents will be asking me when they come downstairs shortly.”

“Right. Well, I had the night duty uniform and CID from three boroughs on the lookout for her all night when they were not tied up with other things. Sadly, no joy, as you will have already guessed, I’m sure.

“I’ve had a briefing with the early turn again this morning and all the CID officers have come in early, too. Bless them, I’ve been told by the control room that almost the whole of the relief who are on their rest day today have called in asking if they are needed to help with the search.”

“That’s good of them.”

“This one has touched everyone, Bill. I think they all have a bad feeling about the disappearance, as do I, and they all want to do what they can to find her safe and sound.”

“Unlikely, at this stage, but their response to it is touching. I shall make sure I let the family know,” he smiled gently at Penny.

“Okay. As for the rest, the TSG is coming back this morning and they are going to flood the streets around the school and the route from home with officers armed with handbills and photographs. They will be speaking to everyone they come across this morning. I also have two traffic cars that will do roadblocks on the main roads in and out of town, stopping everyone. It will cause chaos, I know, but quite frankly, given the circumstances, I don’t care. I will get the new probationers down there to help with that, too. At least people will see a very heavy police presence at the roadblocks, which should keep their irritation a bit more in check! The helicopter will be flying around the area whenever it can, too, and the dog handlers continue searching on the ground. I figured the more people I can get out there the better chance we have of finding her.”

“I agree,” said Masterson. “Is it worth checking on the availability of the POLSA search teams?”

“One step ahead of you there. They haven’t got anyone available as yet, but they are phoning everyone on their list to get as many people in as possible. I’ve also asked the Marine Support Unit to be prepared to send us some frogmen later in the day, as I think we may need to consider underwater searches in the rivers and reservoir before long.”

“Ok, Boss. Let me know when anything changes. I’ll speak to you later.”

Masterson hung up just as the girl’s parents came into view at the top of the stairs.

They looked dreadful. It was obvious from the puffy eyes and slow movements that they had hardly slept at all and they looked to Masterson as though they had probably been crying for most of the night.

The morning had been very tense, with hardly a word spoken since Masterson had explained to the parents the renewed police action. They had all just sat there watching the daytime dross on the television. At one point the girl’s mother had turned the television off as the local news suddenly flashed up a photograph of the missing girl. She had rushed out of the room, closely followed by her husband, and Masterson and Penny had sat in embarrassed silence as they listened to the parents’ distraught sobbing coming from the kitchen.

It was nearly a quarter past two in the afternoon when the call came through on Masterson’s mobile. He excused himself and stepped out into the rear garden before he answered.

“Hello, Boss,” he said. “I do hope you’re bringing me some good news.”

“I’m afraid not,” said the Detective Inspector, sadly.

“Oh God.” Masterson’s heart sank, he knew what was coming next. “Go on.”

“I have just had a phone call from a DC from the Murder Squad in Kent. They think they have found her. Apparently, a farmer was ploughing his field this morning and the plough blades dragged a tarpaulin up from under the surface. When he went to investigate he found that the tarpaulin was wrapped around the body of a young girl, about eight years old with long blonde hair. It was fresh, too.”

“Oh, no. Did the plough damage the body at all?”

“Fortunately not. The blades caught the corner of the tarpaulin and the whole lot popped out of the ground like a cork as the plough pulled forwards. Apparently, if the plough had run six inches further over to the right, it would have run across her face.”

“Thank God for small mercies. Any news yet on how she died?”

“Not yet. They moved the body about an hour ago and have taken it…her… to a local mortuary. They have asked the pathologist just to clean the body up a little until we can take the parents down to formally identify her. Do you think you’ll be able to get them there this afternoon?”

“Definitely will. They are desperate right now, understandably and they will definitely want to go as soon as possible. Probably more in the hope of proving that it’s not their daughter.”

“Okay. Give me a call when you know your timing and I’ll let them know you are on your way. I’m sorry, Bill. This will be hard for you, I know. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Boss. I will.”

He hung up, his heart heavy and, taking a deep breath, he turned back and went into the house.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Now here he was. Looking down on his dead daughter through tear-filled eyes. He wiped his eyes with his fingers, allowing himself to look at the beautiful girl through clear eyes. He tried to stop himself crying, there would be plenty of time for tears later. Slowly he managed to stem the flow until, eventually, the tears stopped. He checked behind him to make sure he was still alone in the room. He was. Gently he leant forwards and slid his arm under her neck before easing the lifeless girl into a half-sitting position. He wrapped her now in his arms and pulled her close to him, giving her one last big hug. He ran his hand through her soft hair and pulled her head close to his neck, feeling the coldness of her forehead against his cheek. In that position he started slowly to rock backwards and forwards, almost unconsciously as though rocking her to sleep.

“I’m so sorry, my baby,” he whispered in her ear. “I wish I could just turn the time back to yesterday. I could have taken you to school in my car, then none of this would have happened. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sleep well, my darling. I love you with all my heart.”

With that he slowly laid his daughter back down on the cold steel of the mortuary trolley. He rested her head gently back on the wooden block against which it had lain before and flicked the hair gently off her face, arranging it neatly into a slight fan shape on the metal behind her. Running his hand gently across her face he leant down and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, unknowingly copying the last actions of the girl’s killer immediately after her death. He had to force himself then to pull the sheet up and over her beautiful, peaceful face. He just wanted to keep looking at her, to burn the image of her at rest and at peace into his memory. That was how he always wanted to remember her.

As he folded the sheet back over her face he felt himself beginning to crumble. He fought to keep his emotions under control and, as the sheet fell loosely back onto the trolley, covering her face, he regained his composure. He tucked a stray lock of blonde hair back under the sheet before turning towards the door.

On his arrival home he had not needed to tell Tina anything. The look on his face and the reddening around his eyes had told her all she needed to know. Masterson had taken Jennings to the mortuary, but before they left he had made sure that she would not be left alone and had arranged for his colleague Zac to stay at the house with her to see her through the next, tense few hours. Once Jennings had identified the girl, Masterson had sent Zac a text message giving him the bad news to prepare him, though he had told Zac not to tell the wife. That needed to be done by the husband, it would be more gently done that way and was a long-recognised method of allowing the grieving process to start.

Both Masterson and Zac stayed outside whilst Jennings lead his wife gently into the front room and sat next to her on the sofa.

“Please tell me it’s not true. Please tell me it’s all a mistake,” she had begged.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. It is her. She’s dead. Gone.”

Now she really broke down. Unable to speak, her entire body was wracked with sobs. For nearly ten minutes all they could do was hold each other, their heads on each other’s shoulders, their tears dampening each other’s clothing.

Slowly their tears subsided until the only sound left was Tina’s gasped breaths and the occasional sniffle.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “this was all my fault. If only I hadn’t stopped and I’d kept an eye on her more closely. If I had called her back… Please forgive me. Please.”

He could say nothing. Now it was finally here and he had seen the body of his dead daughter, he did blame her. He knew it wasn’t really her fault. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Not yet. Not now. So he just kept silent and pulled her close to him.

After about half an hour of them just sitting and holding each other he got up, stretched and walked slowly to the window. Now the waiting, the hoping, was over, he realised he was desperately tired. He couldn’t sleep, though, he wouldn’t leave her alone in the house to cope with her emotional turmoil while he went to bed. He stood looking out of the window watching the cars drive slowly past. Eventually, he turned to her.

“I’m going to make us a cup of tea.”

As he entered the kitchen he was suddenly taken by surprise. He had forgotten about the two policemen and his sister. They all jumped to their feet from the stools around the breakfast bar as he entered the room. The two policemen shuffled awkwardly as Penny rushed over to him and hugged him tightly.
“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “What can I do to help?”

He was amazed at how strong Penny was. There were no signs that she had been crying and she was keeping herself totally under control. Strength for their benefit, he suspected, he knew that she would be hurting almost as much as they were, but she wouldn’t let them see it. Didn’t want to burden them with her own pain.

“I’m going to make a cup of tea,” he said. “Can you go and sit with her while I do, and I want to talk to the officers, too.”

“Of course I will. Call me if you need anything.”

She slipped silently out of the room and he heard the click of the living room door from down the hall as she entered, closely followed by the renewed sobs of his wife.

Silently, he set about making the tea, aware of the two officers’ discomfort in the unnatural silence but, at the moment, unable to bring himself to speak.

“Gentlemen,” he said, finally, “thank you for everything you‘ve done for us over the last couple of days.”

The two officers shuffled nervously.

“You are welcome,” said Masterson. “I’m just so…”

“Don’t!” he interrupted. “We are all sorry. I know you have done everything you can for us and for Beth.

But it wasn’t enough, was it? For any of us.”

The officers stayed silent, expecting an outburst of vitriol, of hate, of anger, of remorse. It was a normal part of being a family liaison officer when the news was not good. But it never came.

“I would be grateful if you could leave us now,” he said, without looking at either of them. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I think I would prefer it if you left us alone now, for a while. We need to be alone, just the two of us.”

“Are you sure?” asked Masterson, uncertainly.

“I am.”

“Ok. If that is what you would like. I am only on the end of the phone if you need me. So is Zac. Here, I’ll give you our cards.”

He held them out to the girl’s father. Jennings remained motionless, his back turned to them both, Masterson could see from his body language that the poor man was desperately trying to keep a grip on his emotions, that one look into the sympathetic eyes of the officers, one friendly gesture, would be enough to tip him over the edge.

“Look, I’ll leave the cards here on the work surface for you and I’ll call you later to make sure you are ok. But if there is anything you want, anything at all, just call me. Okay?”

“I want my daughter back.”

There was nothing either officer could say to that. They looked at each other uncertainly. Masterson nodded towards the hallway and Zac, quick to take the hint, left the kitchen and Masterson watched as he paused outside the living room door. He was about to enter, but the low murmur of voices and the occasional stifled sob from within convinced him that it would be more prudent to leave without saying goodbye. He turned to Masterson and indicated as much before turning to the front door. Masterson was glad he had taken all of his papers and his case with him to the mortuary. At least it meant he didn’t have to collect anything from the living room and he could leave the women in peace with their grief. He turned back to Jennings and gently squeezed his shoulder. Jennings didn’t move, couldn’t move, but that simple friendly gesture meant more to him than Masterson would ever know.

“Call me. Whenever you need to,” Masterson said. “In the meantime I will give you a call in the morning. I’m… take care.”

He lifted his hand slowly from Jennings’ shoulder. The man nodded slightly, but didn’t move. His own inner demons were now fighting within him, desperate to get out. Desperate for vengeance. He fought them, controlled them, locked them away. For now. When he had them under control he stood straight, vaguely aware of the policeman closing the front door behind him on the way out. He poured the boiling water into the teapot, put three mugs, a bottle of milk and the pot on the tray and made his way back to the living room.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Two days had passed since he had been standing over his daughter’s lifeless body in that cold, hard place. The intervening 48 hours had been tense in the extreme. Once the police officers had left Penny had taken charge of things. For the rest of that day she had phoned around the rest of the family, had taken all the calls coming in and had answered the door whenever the bell rang. On one occasion, it had been a reporter from the national press, who she had sent away with a flea in his ear after giving him short shrift over his insensibility and thoughtlessness. Jennings didn’t know whether there had been any news reports subsequently, because he hadn’t left the house since and neither of them had turned the television or radio on, not wanting to hear the news reports about their daughter’s death or the endless speculation about who the killer might be.

Though neither of them had slept at all on the day of the discovery, they had insisted that Penny go home last night to give them a chance to try and start getting things back to normal again, early though it was. Penny had, at first, refused to go but, after they had insisted they wanted to be left alone, she had left. But only after eliciting a promise to phone her if they should need anything at all.

They had watched as Penny drove away and had closed the door on the world as her car disappeared from view. They had returned to the living room and sat back in the seats they had occupied since the policemen had left. Neither of them spoke. They just sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Neither of them moved. They were not hungry, so they needed nothing. Slowly, the darkness started to engulf them, turning everything a milky grey. Soon the only light in the room came from the streetlights outside which gave everything an eerie yellow glow. Still neither of them moved.

The night wore inexorably on. Dragged. He was aware of Tina manoeuvring herself into a more comfortable position and, after a while, he heard the slight change in her breathing, indicating to him that she had, at last, fallen asleep. Good, he thought, she needs it. He felt desperately sorry for her. He could not even begin to imagine the emotional turmoil she must be going through. Yet he still could not bring himself to comfort her. Unfair though it was, part of him still blamed her for their daughter’s death. How often had they read in the papers, seen in the news and heard on the radio about children disappearing in various circumstances? Children disappeared everyday, it seemed, from the streets, from local parks, he had even read about one poor little girl who had been abducted from her own home, while having a bath. In every one of these instances it seemed the child had been taken when the parents back was turned. Every time they had heard another news report they had commented about the lax parenting and had gloated almost about the fact it could never happen to them, they were far too good as parents to let anything like that happen to their little girl. Now here they were, in exactly that situation, with the world’s parents thinking the same about them.

If only Tina hadn’t stopped to talk to her friend. If only she had called Beth back. If only she had paid more attention to where their daughter was. If only…

He could feel the anger rising within him and fought to gain control of it. He could easily get up from the chair now, go over to his wife and hit her. Beat her. Make her feel the pain that his daughter had been through. But he knew there would be no point. She was hurting enough already.

Vaguely he became aware of the birds singing cheerily in the background. He lifted his head from his chest, slowly realising that he, too, must have fallen asleep in the chair. The light outside the window was beginning to change. The streetlights were no longer ablaze, part of the local authority’s energy saving scheme turning the streetlights off in alternate roads on alternate nights. It gave him a perfect view of one of the most beautiful sunrises he had ever seen. The harsh edges of the window were broken by the two Norwegian blue spruce trees he had planted either side of the window and above hung the wisteria his wife had planted a few years before, which was now heavy with the scented blue purple heavy plumes of flowers hanging down. Behind all of this he watched as the sky turned from inky blackness, to dark blue and then a new dawn started to break through. Brilliant beams of crimson light broke through the darkness before a huge red sun rose over the horizon turning the whole sky orange and red with its brightness. Finally, under the watchful eye of a beautiful, warm sun a new day was born.

Strangely, watching such an extraordinary start to the day he, too, felt a new beginning. He had managed to control his anger eventually and it now burned inside him like a second heartbeat. He stood, stretched and yawned. Tina was still asleep, curled up on the sofa in the foetal position, hugging a large cushion. He thought about waking her, to make her breakfast, but decided against it, she needed her sleep. He decided instead to have a shower and get changed, realising suddenly that he had been in the same clothes for over 48 hours. He slipped silently out of the room, closing the door gently behind him and padded slowly up the stairs.

He paused on the landing, not having thought before about the fact that he would have to pass Beth’s bedroom with its door slightly ajar to get to his own. Slowly, he walked towards her door. He couldn’t do it. Not yet. He couldn’t go in. He stood there for a moment with his hand resting lightly on the surface of the door, head bowed. He took a deep breath, slid his hand down the contours of the door panel and grabbed the handle before, eyes closed, he pulled the door shut. At the click of the catch he leant forward slightly and rested his forehead against the door.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” he whispered, “I can’t come in now. Not yet.”

With that, he continued along the large open landing and into his bedroom. The room was spotless, as it always was, with the bed fully made. He sat on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes, staring deliberately at the floor in front of him, forcing himself not to look at the photos on the chest of drawers opposite the foot of the bed. He slipped out of his suit, shirt, tie and underwear and placed them all in a pile on the floor. They would all be going into the rubbish. He knew he could never wear those clothes again. There would be too many unpleasant memories attached to them. Besides which, he could still smell the all-pervading odour of the mortuary on them and he definitely didn’t want to be reminded of that. He quickly went back downstairs, revelling almost in his nakedness, and ripped a bin liner off the roll in the kitchen. Back in the bedroom, having removed anything important from his pockets, he squashed all the clothes into the bin bag and tied the top tight, sealing the clothes inside.

In the bathroom, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on. He gasped in surprise as the cold water hit his body – he had been almost on autopilot and had forgotten that he would normally have turned the water on before stepping into the shower until the water was warmer. Slowly, the cold water drained from the pipes and the hot water started to warm his body. He just stood there for a while, his hand resting on the wall in front of him, head bowed, allowing the water to thunder against his head and trickle down his body, watching the patterns and swirl of the water as it hit the floor by his feet. It felt so good. He didn’t know how long he stood there like that, but he suddenly became aware of movement in his peripheral vision. He slid the shower door back a little and peered out through the steam billowing around him. He just caught a glimpse in the mirror of Tina’s back as she left. On the back of the sink was a large mug of steaming hot coffee. He was about to shout his thanks, to ask her to come back and to sit with him, maybe even to join him in the shower, just to be able to hold each other and let the water rush over them both. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He slid the door back silently into place and rested his head against the cold glass. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes and fought desperately to hold them back. The few that escaped before he regained control of himself he washed away with the hot shower water. The salty tears quickly smothered, diluted and dissipated by the sheer volume of steaming water and washed down the drain. He stood upright and, almost without thinking, he started his ablutions. He shaved with his wet shaver, wiping the condensation from the small mirror fixed to the bathroom tiles to allow him to see what he was doing. He gargled with the mouthwash, enjoying the slight stinging sensation as the alcohol washed over his teeth and gums, and spat the concoction down the drain before washing his whole body down with the shower gel sitting on the shower ledge. He unconsciously used the Lynx that Beth had bought him for his birthday a few months ago, insisting on using her own pocket money to get it. He watched the bubbles fall from his body and swirl themselves down the plughole. When they had all gone and the water was running clear, he turned the shower off and rubbed some of the water off his body with his hands before stepping from the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed the mug of coffee from the sink and padded into the bedroom. He took a sip of coffee and winced as the hot liquid hit his still tingling gums. He put the coffee on the bedside table and dried himself off before getting himself dressed in a pair of casual trousers and a shirt. He slipped on a pair of Brasher walking boots, which he always wore when he was casually dressed, they felt more comfortable and were much more hardwearing than trainers.

Now dressed and feeling much more invigorated, he picked up his coffee cup and left the bedroom. He stood at the top of the stairs and took a deep breath, steadying his nerves before heading off downstairs and the prospect of having actually to talk to his wife. He got to the bottom of the stairs and headed for the kitchen. He was relieved to hear noises in the front room as he passed which meant Tina must be in there, tidying up from the sound of things, and he hurried past, continuing on to the kitchen. He tipped away the dregs of this coffee once he had finished it and quickly washed out the mug. He had a sudden, overwhelming desire to be outside, not in the garden, but away from the house completely.

He stood upright and walked briskly to the front room, pausing briefly outside the door and listening to Tina still shuffling about inside. He grasped the door handle and, turning it slowly, he entered the room. She looked startled and uncertain by his sudden entrance. She was bent over the coffee table in the middle of the room, tidying up the magazines that were strewn across the top surface. He could tell she had been crying because of the red, sore, bloodshot eyes that looked uncertainly back at him. She looked at him with a mixture of sadness, need, compassion and fear. Somehow his appearance in the doorway, looking so composed, so together, so focussed, did not seem at all reassuring to her. Indeed, he looked like a man struggling to contain his anger, ready to unleash his fury at the slightest provocation. She was very frightened now as she had never been before. She sank back down onto the sofa as he advanced towards her.

“I need… I am going out for a while,” he said slowly. “I need to be away from the house for an hour or so.”

She nodded.

“Do you want to come with me?”

She shook her head. It was not really a question. She could tell from his voice, from his face, that he didn’t really want her to come, but he felt he should ask anyway.

“Right. Well, I shall see you in an hour or so.”

With that, he turned on his heels and left the room. He had just reached the front door when he heard her emerge from the living room. He turned and saw her rushing towards him. She flung herself into his arms even before he realised what was happening and she started smothering his face, his eyes, his lips, with kisses. She stopped, finally, and rested her forehead against him, holding his face in her hands.

“I love you,” she said, “with all my heart. I’m so s…”

She never finished the sentence because he placed a finger to her lips to stop her, shaking his head slowly. For a moment she looked into his eyes and for a brief second she could see the eyes of the man she loved, the man she had married, the man he had been just days ago. Then, she watched as those once beautiful eyes changed again, became cold, hard, full of pain and hate. For a moment she thought he was going to say something to her, maybe even tell her he loved her. But he didn’t, he turned sharply, opened the door and left, leaving the door open in his wake and her left alone, in no man’s land.

He heard the door close softly behind him as he walked to the bottom of the path. He paused, uncertain now about where he was actually going to go. He decided to turn left. It was the opposite way from the town with the hustle and bustle of the shops. He didn’t want to head in a direction where he would have to meet people. Or, worse still, to watch people he knew turning away from him, not wanting to speak to him, uncertain about what they should say.

He walked for about a mile before turning down the alleyway that would lead him into the woodlands. After a further ten minutes he was deep into the trees, surrounded by birdsong, the sunlight glinting through the trees and dappling the ground around him. There he stood, alone, listening, watching. Thinking.

He had no idea how long he had stood there under the canopy of the trees. He had not noticed anything going on around him. He was unaware that he had stood still for so long that the animals had got used to his being there. So much so, that a pair of squirrels was sitting at his feet, eating. At one point, a couple had walked, hand in hand, along the path running behind where he stood and he was so still, so much a part of the scenery, that they hadn’t even noticed he was there, even as they passed within ten feet of him.

Now, though, he was moving. Striding back across the woodland paths with purpose. His mind was made up. Nothing would make him deviate his course. He was going to do all he could to identify this man, to confront him, to ask him why. To hand him over to the police.

He got back home much quicker than he had left. He was now full of purpose. Full of life. He paused at the bottom of the path and gazed at the big Victorian house he had worked so hard for. He had loved this house, admired its architecture, its build quality. He had spent years and thousands of pounds getting the house right. He had always loved just looking at it. Now though, the house didn’t seem the same. From the end of the drive, for the first time, he noticed the crack in the render on the first floor, he could see the crack in one of the chimney pots, saw that the chimney stack needed repointing, saw the huge crack in the bottom of the ground floor stone window sill. It was as though, during the last 48 hours, the house had started to mirror his life and had started to fall apart. He no longer felt any love for the building. It was now a pile of bricks and mortar, a roof over his head, a place where he could confine his pain, could hide it from the world. For now.

He walked up the path to the front door and slowly slid his keys into the lock. As he turned the key, all around him was quiet and he could hear the tumblers turning over as the key engaged each one in turn. The door swung open as soon as the lock was released and he stepped into the cool hallway. He turned and closed the door behind him. He was about to call out to his wife, but something stopped him. He was still facing the door, but he realised that something had not been quite right with the look of the hallway as he had entered. He turned slowly to face back into the hallway. At first glance, everything looked in order, nothing was out of place. He was about to write it off as his imagination, when something caught his eye. Something above the stairs. For a moment, his brain could not make sense of what he was seeing. It was too out of place, too incongruous. Then it dawned on him what he was looking at. It was a pair of heels dangling above the stairs just below the ceiling line. The multi-coloured, striped socks told him whose heels they were – Tina’s.

“Oh my God, no!” he yelled, rushing forward to the small landing four steps up where the stairs changed direction.

He stopped and looked up at Tina’s obviously lifeless body. Her arms hung limply beside her, her soft, elegant hands loose. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders and hung in front of her face, now almost black through asphyxia. From the back of her neck he could see the length of blue nylon rope she had used to hang herself tied over the handrail just three feet above her head. She hadn’t bothered to cut the rope and he could see the rest of the cord resting neatly on the floor behind her head.

He sank slowly to the floor, resting his back and his head against the wall. Gazing, almost in wonder, at his wife. He wanted to yell, to cry out, maybe just to cry. But nothing would come out. He just sat there. Drained. Looking at her, his anger building again. His hatred fired. Now he was totally focused. This man had taken the two most precious things he had in his life. Now he would find him. He too, would suffer. Now he would die.

When the police arrived they showed great sympathy and compassion. Indeed, it was one of the police officers who had found Tina’s suicide note, in an envelope, tucked behind the photos on the mantelpiece. The officers had left him alone in the kitchen to open and read the note in private. Tina had decided that she was totally to blame for their daughter’s death and could not cope with that responsibility. She couldn’t bear the thought of the rest of her life looking into his eyes and seeing that unspoken accusation looking back at her. She said she was sorry for putting him through more misery, but that it would be better this way.

He read the note almost with dispassionate disinterest. He tossed it down on the breakfast bar and turned to gaze out of the window. He became vaguely aware, eventually, of a voice behind him.

“Sir?”

He turned to the police officer who was standing holding the suicide note carefully by the corner.

“I’m sorry, sir, I know that this is a difficult time to ask this, but I need to take your wife’s note as evidence for the coroner. I’m sorry. I give you my word that we shall return it as soon as we can.”

He raised his hand dismissively. Taking the gesture as one of consent, the police officer dropped the note into a clear plastic evidence bag and closed the seal, before returning to his colleague in the hallway.

During the next hour, he was spoken to by a succession of people, the local police Duty Inspector, the coroner’s officer, the undertakers and, eventually, by phone, DC Masterson.

“I’m so sorry,” he said sincerely. “Would you like me to come over? Is there anything you need?”

He had declined. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts without anyone interfering. He assured Masterson that he was okay and he wouldn’t do anything to himself. He also agreed to let Masterson tell Penny. That was one thing he couldn’t face himself.

He could hear, as he put the phone down, the grunts of the undertakers and police officers as they struggled with Tina’s body, trying desperately not to damage her any further as they cut her down. He heard them unzip the body bag and slide it over her hanging body. He heard them do the zip back up before starting to cut the nylon rope from which she was suspended. He heard the grunt of the undertaker as the full weight of Tina’s body slumped forward over his shoulder as the rope was finally cut through. He thought he heard her moan, but knew that couldn’t be possible and guessed that it must have just been the air being forced from her lungs as she fell forward. He heard one of the officers removing the remaining length of rope from the banister. He remembered hearing somewhere that the police try not to undo the knots in hangings, but preserve the knot for the pathologist to examine and marry up to the marks on the victim’s neck.

The door opened suddenly and the police officer walked into the room. He could see past the officer briefly and saw as the undertakers laid Tina gently, almost reverently, on a large, wheeled gurney. Although he could see that she was in a huge black body bag he watched as the undertakers covered the body with a large blanket. The police officer, quickly realising what he could see, closed the door before explaining that she would be taken to the local mortuary where she would be examined by a pathologist. He was asked whether he would want to see his wife’s body before the post mortem. He declined. It was only 48 hours since his last, first, visit to a mortuary in which he had seen his beloved daughter, he didn’t think he could do that again.

Then, suddenly, the house was empty. He was alone. The silence left behind almost deafening. He was hit now by an overwhelming desire to sleep. He hadn’t realised that he was quite so tired. Briefly, he fought to busy himself, to stay awake, but quickly decided that he might as well succumb to sleep. He washed the coffee cup he had in his hand, unaware that he had even made himself one, and left the kitchen. As he got to the first landing on the staircase he felt a chill run down his spine at the thought that Tina had been hanging above that spot just a short while before. On the landing he unconsciously ran his hand along the banister as he always did, but he stopped as his fingers ran over two indentations in the wood that he didn’t remember feeling before. He paused and checked to see what they were, recoiling slightly when he realised they must have been made by the rope from which Tina had hung herself. As he looked, he could see the cut marks in the paintwork where the police officer had cut through the rope. He walked quickly past and into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Now thoroughly drained and exhausted, he quickly undressed, throwing his clothes onto the chair in the corner, and slipped under the duvet. He was vaguely aware of the sensation of the cool sheets against his skin before he fell deeply asleep.

Ten days later and everyone at the church thought it a pitiful sight. There were not many people in the church for the funeral, it was not a big family. He sat silently throughout the service, Penny beside him in the front pew. He took no part in the service, said nothing, just stared at the two coffins laid at the top of the chancel steps. Both were pure white with silver handles, but one was only half the size of the other.

He had sat motionless through the entire service. At the end, though, as the rest of the congregation filed out to await the departure of the coffins, he had walked towards them. A number of people stopped and stood, watching him approach the coffins, uncertain about what he was going to do. Penny just stood and stared. He reached the top of the chancel steps and slowly brought his hands up, resting them on the lids of the coffins, one to his left and his daughter’s to the right. Standing there with his arms outstretched he looked directly at the large, carved crucifix between the two stained glass windows. For a while he stood there. Not moving. Staring into the cold stone eyes of the carved figure of Jesus, his own eyes giving the appearance of dancing with fire, with the reflection of the red robes depicted in the window. Eventually, he bowed his head. The few remaining people in the church started to leave, satisfied that he was now just deep in prayer. Soon there were just three of them left in the church; he was watched with sad, compassionate eyes by Penny and the officiating clergyman. They waited in respectful silence whilst he prayed.

He was, indeed, offering up prayers. But not conventional ones. Head bowed, silently, only audible to himself and his God. At that moment, the last vestiges of his old self died inside. By the time he raised his eyes to the statue, his hands still firmly planted on the two coffins that housed his most prized possessions, they were as cold as the stone from which it had been carved.

**************

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