Another sip from the warm, still water.

‘Hazel is ten years old. She has medium-length dark brown hair and brown eyes. Last night she was wearing light blue corduroy trousers, a dark blue sweater embroidered with the letter H, and a red quilted sleeveless jacket. She was carrying a black drawstring gym bag, also embroidered with the letter H.’

I held up an enlarged colour print of a smiling brown-haired girl. I said: ‘Copies of this recent school photograph are being distributed as I speak.’

Again a sip from the warm, still water.

I glanced down the table at Dick Alderman. He touched the father’s arm. The father looked up then turned to me.

I nodded.

The father blinked.

I said: ‘Mr Atkins would now like to read a short statement in the hope that any member of the public who may have seen Hazel after four o’clock yesterday evening, or who may have any information whatsoever regarding Hazel’s whereabouts or her disappearance, will come forward and share this information with Mr and Mrs Atkins and ourselves.’

I slid the microphone down the table to Mr Atkins as the hounds edged in closer, panting and slavering, smelling bones -

His daughter’s bones -

The scent strong here, near.

Mr Atkins looked at his wife, his four eyes red from tears and lack of sleep, a night’s guilty stubble in clothes damp and crushed, and from out of this mess he stared at the hounds that waited and watched, waited and watched -

His bones.

Mr Atkins said, said with strength: ‘I would like to appeal to anybody who knows where our Hazel is or who saw her after four o’clock yesterday to please telephone the police. Please, if you know anything, anything at all, please telephone the police. Please -’

Stop -

‘Let her come home.’