“Thanks,” I said.

“Doesn’t look so good though does it?” said Aunty Madge.

“No,” I lied.

“There’s been a couple now, haven’t there?” said Aunt Edie, a cup of tea in one hand, my hand in the other.

“Aye, going back a few years now. That little lass over in Castleford,” said my Aunty Madge.

“That is going back a bit, aye. There was that one not so long ago mind, over our way,” said Aunt Edie, taking a mouthful of tea.

“Aye, in Rochdale. I remember that one,” said Aunty Madge, lightening her grip on her saucer.

“Never found her,” sighed Aunt Edie.

“Really?” I said.

“Never caught no-one either.”

“Never do though, do they,” said Aunty Madge to the whole room.

“I can remember a time when these sorts of things never happened.”

“Thems in Manchester were the first.”

“Aye,” muttered Aunt Edie, letting go of my hand.

“Evil they were, just plain bloody evil,” whispered Aunty Madge.

“And to think there’s them that’d have her walking about like nowt was wrong.”

“Some folk are just plain daft.”

“Short memories an’ all,” said Aunt Edie, looking out at the garden and the rain.

Edward Dunford, North of England Crime Correspondent, out the door.

Cats and bloody dogs.

Motorway One back to Leeds, lorry-thick and the going slow. Pushing the Viva a hard sixty-five in the rain, as good as it got.

Local radio:

“The search continues for missing Morley schoolgirl Clare Kemplay, as fears grow…”

A glance at the clock told me what I already knew: 4 PM meant time was against me, meant time was against her, meant no time to do background checks on missing kids, meant no questions at the five o’clock press conference.

Shit, shit, shit.

Coming off the motorway fast, I weighed up the pros and cons of asking my questions blind, right there and then at the five o’clock, with nothing but two old ladies behind me.