‘Stefan wanted custody when we split up. He’s never accepted things.’

‘Does he have access? Does Kerri visit him?’

Alison shook her head. ‘He lives abroad. I won’t let Kerri go to him, because I know he wouldn’t let her come back.’ She reached for her handbag and produced a slip of paper. ‘This is his address and phone numbers.’

‘Hamburg.’ Lowry scratched the back of his head. His hair looked newly cropped, very short, and the way he touched it made her think he was still getting used to it.

‘I tried ringing him. There was no answer from his home. The second number is his work. They said he’s been away. Abroad, they said.’

‘If Kerri packed up things to take with her, she must have been planning to go somewhere willingly,’ the woman constable said, in that detached, reasonable tone the nurses used with sick people. ‘Why don’t we have another look in her room and make a list of exactly what she took.’

The man looked at his watch impatiently. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said.

The uniformed woman, who told Alison to call her Miriam, stayed with her for another half an hour, drawing up a list of missing things, from which they picked out the clothes that Kerri would most likely have been wearing when she left, as well as other belongings-the Mexican silver ring and hair clasp, for example-that would identify her. Alison Vlasich felt herself become calmer as Miriam Sangster talked the matter through with her, discussing options and possibilities. It was only when the policewoman made signs of leaving that her agitation returned.

‘Why don’t you pay a visit to your GP, Alison?’ Sangster suggested. ‘You probably need something to help you sleep.’

‘It isn’t that.’ She gnawed at her bottom lip.