Jessica felt defensive. ‘Are you saying I’ve lost my instinct?’

Izzy put the snow globe back down and paced across to the window. ‘The opposite, actually. I’m saying it’s better because, instead of barrelling in, you’re a little more . . . refined.’

Arching her eyebrows, Jessica replied: ‘Refined means boring.’

The constable laughed again. ‘Only you could think that. Maybe you haven’t changed after all.’

Jessica patted the corners of the sheets back into the bed to ensure she hadn’t made too much of a mess. She had a look underneath but there wasn’t even a rogue pair of shoes, let alone a stack of animal porn or snuff videos. She didn’t want to rummage too deeply through the teenager’s possessions but a quick glance through the dresser and the rest of the wardrobe revealed nothing interesting, aside from the fact that he folded his boxer shorts too neatly.

Izzy was in the process of checking each of the film cases individually when Jessica stopped her. ‘We may as well go. There’s not much we can do here. We’ll have to talk to his friends and then check whatever CCTV we have from the streets near the other house to see if he was caught anywhere.’

‘His poor parents.’

Jessica let the words hang for a few moments. ‘What’s it like being a mum?’ she asked.

Izzy grinned, although her eyes looked tired. ‘It’s great. I never thought I’d want kids, it was always Mal. But now, I can’t think of a world without Amber.’

‘Why did you come back to work then?’

The constable pulled a face and, for a moment, Jessica thought her friend had taken offence. ‘Because I don’t want to be defined by it.’

It wasn’t the first time Jessica felt as if someone else was the adult in the room as she somehow struggled to keep up.

‘I love being a mum but I don’t want to just be “Izzy, the mother”. I want to be “Detective Constable Isobel Diamond, the police officer”, “Mrs Diamond, the wife” – all those things and more. I love Amber and I love being with her but I didn’t want to become someone who spends so long being at home that I’m incapable of doing anything else.’

It was clear to Jessica her friend had been bottling up her speech for a while. ‘You’ll always be “Izzy the wind-up merchant” to me,’ she assured her.

‘Isn’t that why you’re not taking Adam’s name? Because you don’t just want to be “Jessica Compton, the wife”? You want to do your own thing?’

Jessica stared at her friend. ‘There is another reason . . .’

Before she could say anything else, her mobile phone began to ring. She took it out of her jacket pocket, sighing for Izzy’s benefit as she saw the caller’s identity.

‘Well, well, well,’ she answered. ‘Look who it is.’

She was slightly dismayed to hear that Garry Ashford’s voice did not waver as he replied. He was a journalist that she knew she could intimidate and certainly annoy. In the past they had helped each other with various things and, although she’d never tell him, he was one of the few people she trusted.

‘How’s married life?’ he shot back.

‘Is that a tiny hint of jealousy?’

‘Jealous I didn’t get to see you squirming in a dress. I heard you went to Vegas to avoid everyone?’

‘Well, if you will listen to Dave Rowlands as a source, then you will be fed misinformation. Anyway, if you’ve been caught flashing in a park again, then no, I’m not going to ask about having the charges dropped.’

She heard the man suppressing what she assumed for the benefit of her own ego was a snigger. ‘Have you got a few minutes to come to the office?’ he asked.

Jessica swirled her hand in the air to apologise to Izzy for taking so long on the call. ‘Can’t you just tell me on the phone?’

‘It’s serious.’

‘You’ve not locked yourself in a toilet cubicle again, have you?’

‘Jess . . .’

Jessica changed her tone. ‘All right, we’ll come over but we’re supposed to be on the way back to the station, so you’ll have to give me something.’

Garry took a deep breath as if wondering how to phrase things. ‘We took a call this morning from someone who said her son is missing.’

Jessica involuntarily let out a gasp, somehow knowing the woman sat in the living room below was the person who had made the call. She wondered why Oliver’s mother hadn’t told them she had phoned the media. Garry didn’t seem to notice as he continued. ‘You know what missing persons cases are like – you won’t do anything for a day or so and we don’t run anything unless we’ve heard from you, otherwise we’d be printing a new story every time someone had an argument and stormed out for the night.’

For a reason she wasn’t sure of, Jessica didn’t want to let on that she knew anything about Oliver Gordon, let alone that she was standing in his parents’ house. She gave a non-committal ‘uh-huh’.

‘Anyway, we have this new guy who started two weeks ago. He’s straight out of uni and you know the type. They’re keen but don’t really have a clue what they’re doing. We’ve been giving him the shit jobs to see what he’s like . . .’

‘Wow, what a boss you are.’

‘Honestly, Jess, if I wind you up, just wait until you meet him, he . . .’ Garry sounded as if he was about to go off on a rant before he stopped himself mid-sentence. ‘Either way, we put this call onto him just to shut him up for half an hour. It’s not that we’re unsympathetic but you don’t know if there’s actually a story, or just some over-protective mum who’s had a shouting match with her lad.’

‘What happened?’

‘We put this guy on the births, deaths and marriages page a few days ago. It’s a lot of work for not much reward and everyone here is always dodging it. He did a decent job but noticed one thing after taking all the details down about the missing lad. Can I run a name past you?’

‘Who?’

‘Have you heard anything about an “Oliver Gordon”?’

Jessica felt a tingle run along her back, her suspicions confirmed. ‘What about him?’

‘We had his mum phoning in this morning to say he went missing last night – but we already ran an obituary for him two days ago.’

4

Jessica dropped Izzy back at Longsight Police Station where they worked, asking her if she could start double-checking Oliver Gordon’s background and also look into his friends. She then left her car and took a marked police vehicle. The Manchester Morning Herald’s offices were in the centre of the city and she had no intention of driving around looking for a parking space. Instead, she left the car half on the pavement, half on the road on a side street just off Deansgate and then walked the short distance to the cafe where Garry Ashford had suggested meeting.

The small coffee shop was in an area surrounded by swanky new glass-fronted buildings, looking as if it had been dropped into the wrong century. A bell tinkled over the door as Jessica walked in. The smell of exotic teas was both pleasant but strange as she immediately spotted Garry sitting in the corner drinking from an espresso cup, one leg crossed over the other. The walls were brown, almost as if stained by the fumes, and Garry’s outfit blended perfectly as he was wearing a pair of brown corduroy trousers, with a matching jacket over the top of a white shirt. His hair had grown since she had last seen him, scraggily hanging below his ears.

He was jabbing at his phone screen but looked up when Jessica scraped back the chair opposite him and sat.

‘Still not got a mirror in your house then,’ she said.

They had met in this exact cafe a few years ago. Back then, Garry would have squirmed awkwardly but instead he grinned. ‘It’s good to see you, Jess.’

‘You too but your girlfriend can’t seriously be happy about going out in public with you wearing stuff like that? And what’s going on with the tiny cup? Can’t you drink a proper mug of coffee?’