‘So what did you do?’

‘I told the police at Helensburgh. They went through all the motions but, you know how it is, a black kid goes missing. They don’t give a fuck.’

‘What about a girlfriend?’

‘First thing I thought of, but that’s it. He hasn’t got one just now. Broke up with the last one nearly a year ago. Nice girl she was. I asked the kid in the house… Christ, I came on a bit heavy I suppose, and I didn’t get anything out of him really. But he didn’t mention a girl’

‘What about his friends at university?’

He looked up again and this time he was seeing me and what I was seeing was despair and guilt etched into his features and movements. ‘He’s twenty years old, Cliff. He’s a man. You haven’t got any kids, have you?’

I shook my head. When I hear about this sort of thing I’m not sorry about it.

‘You don’t know what it’s like. You raise them from the time you can nearly hold them in your two hands.’ He spread his fingers, showing huge pink palms. Wesley Scott was 190 centimetres plus, with hands to match. ‘When they’re young, you know all their friends. Shit, you’re feeding them half the time. Then they grow up to be as big as you and you have to let them go. You don’t know who their friends are any more. They don’t come around on their fucking bikes. They’ve all got cars and you never see them. You’re lucky if you get your own kid’s new address and phone number inside a couple of weeks when he moves house. That’s the way it is.’

I could imagine it and how hard it must be. But my professional instincts were taking over. You can find out, I thought. But only if you know how. I had a raft of questions but it was more a moment for counselling. Without quite meaning it, I said things about how good the police were in these matters and how few adult males who dropped put of sight came to any harm. Wesley shook his head, flicking off these suggestions the way a dog shakes off water.