‘I reckon,’ said Tanner.

‘It’s usually someone they know,’ said Langan.

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘I was just saying.’

They arrived outside the door of the interview room.

‘How are you going to play it?’ said Langan.

‘He’s a worried father,’ said Tanner, and pushed the door open.

Richard Vine was on his feet. He was dressed in a grey suit with no tie. ‘Is there any news?’ he said.

‘We’re doing everything we can,’ said Tanner.

‘No news at all?’

‘It’s early days,’ said Tanner, knowing as he said it that it wasn’t true. That it was the reverse of the truth. He gestured to Richard Vine to sit down.

Langan moved to one side so that he could observe the father as he talked. Vine was tall, with the stoop of a man who feels uncomfortable with his height, and had dark hair that was already turning grey at the temples, though he couldn’t have been more than his mid-thirties. He had dark, beetling brows and was unshaven; there was a bruised look to his pale, slightly puffy face. His brown eyes were red-rimmed and looked sore. He seemed dazed.

‘I was on the road,’ said Vine, without being asked. ‘I didn’t know. I didn’t hear until early this morning.’

‘Can you tell me where you were, Mr Vine?’

‘I was on the road,’ he repeated. ‘My work …’ He stopped and pushed a flap of hair back from his face. ‘I’m a salesman. I spend a lot of time on the road. What’s that got to do with my daughter?’

‘We just need to establish your whereabouts.’

‘I was in St Albans. There’s a new sports centre. Do you want to know the times? Do you need proof?’ His voice sharpened. ‘I wasn’t anywhere near here if that’s what you’re thinking. What’s Debbie been saying about me?’

‘I’d like to know times.’ Tanner kept his voice neutral. ‘And anyone who can corroborate what you’re telling us.’