The boy was certainly like his mother in looks, and although Roger had only seen her face ravaged with grief, he realized she was a beauty; according to Lissa, a petulant beauty.

Roger examined the back door more closely, found one or two scratches, gave it more attention, and felt sure that the man or men had entered this way. In half an hour he found nothing else. He poured the dregs from each coffee-cup into small medicine bottles he found in a cupboard, after rinsing them out; he poured the milk from the Jug into another bottle, placed samples of the sugar, coffee and all the food he could find into a small basket he discovered in the kitchen. All this, without destroying prints that might be there. He felt curiously on his own, and badly wanted a team; he would have settled for Bill Sloan.

He heard a movement outside the kitchen, but didn’t look round. He could see the door in a small mirror hanging between the two windows. It was Lissa. She came in quietly; he didn’t think stealthily. She wasn’t smiling or frowning, but looked intent He waited until she was halfway across the room, and then turned.

“Hallo.”

“Hi,” she said. “Mr West, you’ve got to make David believe you’ll find Ricky.”

“Have I?” Roger said heavily.

“It matters more than almost anything else you can think of. You must make him believe that you will find the boy. Even if it means faked evidence.” Her eyes demanded that of him, and he knew that she felt this need desperately. “Because if you don’t —”

“He will listen to ransom talk,” Roger suggested.

“Ransom,” she said. “Yes, he will.”

She drew nearer, a hand touched his, the honey-coloured eyes had a faraway look. In a tauter voice, she said: “You’re very hard. I can tell that But you must convince David that he will do harm, not good, by talking terms with anyone. It could be for money. It’s more likely to be someone who wants to high pressure David for his secret knowledge.”