‘Hello?’ he said.

Before he had finished speaking, the door banged into place with the sound of a padlock slotting into the bracket. The man spun around towards the door with a startled ‘hey’ as Jessica pressed the button to turn on the light they had rigged up. She found herself squinting as the bright white lamp illuminated the room and the man twisted to face her.

His eyes were wide with surprise as Jessica spoke. ‘Hello, Toby.’

35

The man had gelled black hair with trimmed stubble on his chin. He had dressed for the weather, with a pair of heavy boots, jeans and a thick coat. He blinked rapidly, stunned by the light, and stared open-mouthed at Jessica, then noticed Annabel sitting to his right. ‘What?’ he said, barely able to get the words out.

‘Do you want to sit down?’ Jessica asked, pointing towards another fold-up chair resting against the wall. He turned around and tried to open the door. ‘It’s locked,’ Jessica added. ‘And people are outside so don’t even bother. I think it’s time for a chat.’

The man turned around and looked from Jessica to Annabel then back again. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

Jessica snorted involuntarily. ‘That’s an odd question coming from you. I’m Detective Sergeant Jessica Daniel and this, as I’m sure you remember, is your sister. Don’t worry about Deborah, she’s fine. I just borrowed her phone to send you a text message.’

The man shook his head. ‘I really think you’ve got the wrong person,’ he said, reaching back towards the door. ‘My name’s Stephen.’

Jessica nodded. ‘I know, we’ve met. Do you remember when I was leaving Deborah’s house with a colleague, and you were walking down the drive?’ The man nodded slowly. ‘“Friend of the family”, that’s what Deborah told us you were at the time.’

The man picked up on her words. ‘That’s right.’

‘You’re not, though, are you?’

‘Why do you think that?’ He was still standing close to the door, looking at Jessica.

‘A hunch, a turn of phrase, a photograph. If you were just a friend, why would she call you “dear”? Why would there be pictures of you with both Benjamin and Deborah from when you were younger?’

It had been the way Lucy Martin called Olivia ‘dear’ that had made the connection for Jessica – it had been exactly how Deborah referred to the man on her driveway all those weeks ago. It was all in the tone of voice, an inflection of concern that didn’t happen when you were speaking to a random person.

‘What’s wrong with that?’ Stephen countered.

‘Why would someone keep pictures of themselves posing with a teenager if it wasn’t their own child?’

He stared back at Jessica defiantly.

‘I didn’t even notice it the first time I was at Benjamin’s house,’ she continued. ‘Everything was so normal, pictures of an apparently happy family. It was the type of thing you wouldn’t even notice but I checked the records. Benjamin and Deborah had a son named Stephen – but he died within a week of being born a few months before you went missing. One of your friendly teachers took you home one night and never gave you back. After everything had died down, they raised you as their own.’

Jessica paused for breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. ‘When I was a kid, all our neighbours knew who I was,’ she continued. ‘It was a bit of a pain because if I ever got up to anything, it would always get back to my parents. I guess it depends on the area. I checked the housing records and within six months of you disappearing, Benjamin and Deborah moved into a new house. I’m guessing their new neighbours would have assumed you were their son. If you happened to look a little like a boy who had been in the newspapers months earlier, then it was just a coincidence.’

Stephen was still staring at Jessica. ‘Sit down or we’re going to be here all night,’ she added.

He turned around and picked up the chair, opening it out and placing it next to the door before sitting on it. Jessica didn’t need him to confirm or deny it to know she was right. On the surface, it seemed so simple. For whatever reason, Benjamin and Deborah couldn’t have children after Stephen died, so they simply took one. Whether it was a Stockholm Syndrome situation with the boy falling for his ‘captors’, or whether it was voluntary, Jessica didn’t know. For whatever reason, Toby – or Stephen – had willingly been brought up by parents who weren’t his. By moving to the opposite end of the city, possibly dyeing his hair or doing something else to change his appearance, with new, unfamiliar neighbours, they didn’t have any awkward questions to answer about where he came from.

None of that answered what had happened with Isaac though.

The man sat forward, hunched and ready to move quickly if necessary. ‘If I’m not Stephen, then how come that’s the name on my driving licence?’

That was one of the key things Jessica had struggled to figure out but she had stumbled across a possible answer on the Internet. She spoke firmly: ‘If the real Stephen was registered at the hospital, Deborah and Benjamin could have applied for a birth certificate then. Given the speed things move, they might have received it in the post weeks after he had already died. Assuming they kept it in a drawer, it would have been easy enough for you to use it to register yourself for a driving licence, as well as anything else you needed to live a normal life under a name that isn’t yours.’

He didn’t say a word, locking eyes with Jessica in an uncomfortable silence.

Annabel interrupted their non-verbal sparring. ‘Why didn’t you come home?’

The man adjusted the way he was sitting and glanced towards Annabel, although Jessica could see he wasn’t looking high enough to meet her eyes.

‘Why?’ she repeated.

He glared at the ground but Annabel leapt to her feet and ran across the room, launching herself into him. The echo of the chair crashing to the ground rang around the room as the two people collided. Jessica realised what was happening too slowly, jumping forward in an effort to pull Annabel away.

The man had been blindsided and knocked backwards with his coat and shirt ruffled up around his face. Annabel pointed towards him and spat out the word: ‘Look.’

Jessica squinted at where she was indicating and saw a zigzag-shaped mark across the man’s abdomen. As he picked himself up, Annabel returned to her seat. She made no attempt to hide the fury in her voice. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t remember. I was only nine. We tied that rope to the tree on the edge of the park near our house. We were taking it in turns to run at it and swing across the stream. I’d got across but you came sprinting over and slipped. You got one hand on the rope then landed sideways in the water. That scar comes from the rock you hit when you landed.’

The man straightened his clothes but wouldn’t look up from the floor. ‘Just tell me your name,’ Annabel shouted at him.

‘Stephen,’ he replied quietly.

‘Oh, fuck you, Toby. Why didn’t you come home?’

For a moment, Jessica thought the man was going to remain silent but then, finally, he spoke. ‘Because I didn’t want to.’

Toby’s words hung in the air as he ran his hand through his now-dark hair. Jessica felt a mix of vindication for everything she had done, along with an almost overwhelming feeling of regret because, in some ways, she had hoped she was wrong. Nobody said anything but Toby had finally met his sister’s stare.

‘Why?’ Annabel asked forcefully.

‘I enjoyed being with Ian and Deb. They bought me things, they looked after me.’

‘They bought you things? That’s why you chose to stay with them? Did they take you or did you go willingly?’

Toby spoke quietly but firmly. ‘None of your business.’