Alex sat in her office and waited for someone to answer her call. She had thought about going to the address she’d been given, but the case required her to be at the station and she couldn’t justify popping out for what was currently little more than a nagging suspicion.

‘Hello?’

‘Is this Mandy Lewis?’

‘Who’s asking?’

Alex felt her lip curl. Charm evidently ran in the Coleman family. ‘Detective Inspector Alex King, South Wales Police,’ she told the woman. ‘Am I right that your nephew, Christian Coleman, is staying with you at the moment?’

‘So what if he is?’

‘Can I speak with him?’

The woman started coughing and Alex instinctively moved the phone from her face, as though her germs were going to be sent shooting down the receiver. ‘He’s not here,’ she spluttered eventually.

‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘Bloody hell, what is this, twenty questions? I don’t know … yesterday afternoon sometime.’

‘So he didn’t come home last night?’

The woman paused before answering, apparently belatedly realising that whatever she said might in some way incriminate Christian. ‘I didn’t say that. I said I hadn’t seen him … doesn’t mean he didn’t come home. Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

Alex opened her mouth to respond, but the line had gone dead. If she wanted to ask him, she was obviously going to have to do so face to face.

Dan was sitting at his computer in the incident room. He hadn’t seen Alex since the meeting earlier that morning and for now he was happy for it to remain that way. Trying to prise his thoughts away from what had happened between them the previous evening, he scanned the long list of comments that followed a Facebook status relating to the attack on Corey Davies. The original status had been posted by one of his own relatives; a distant cousin who his wife insisted on writing a Christmas card to every year despite the fact she had never met him:

Whatever bastard assaulted Corey Davies last night better sleep with one eye open. Picking on a disabled kid #scumoftheearth #watchyourback

He felt a hand on the chair behind him as Chloe leaned over his shoulder to take a look at the comments.

‘Anything of interest?’

‘Not yet. Just the usual vigilantes. Why do people use hashtags on Facebook?’

Chloe shrugged. ‘Not sure. Annoying, though. Is autism classed as a disability?’

‘Don’t know. If it’s severe enough, I suppose.’

She pulled up a chair and sat beside him. If she noticed his reaction – the flinch of unease that sparked from him at her proximity – she didn’t give anything away. Chloe and Alex had grown close during the past year. If Alex was going to confide in anyone about what had happened the night before, Dan thought, then Chloe would be that person. But surely she wouldn’t. There was too much at stake, for both of them. And after this morning’s outburst, he suspected that the friendship between the two might be left to cool a little.

The photograph of his wife and two daughters stared at Dan from the side of his desk. Their eyes, usually a source of such comfort in a place that was a constant reminder of the darkness of the world, now seemed to glare at him accusingly. He had been with his wife for almost twenty years. They had been married for fifteen. In all those years he had never been unfaithful to her. He had never wanted to be.

‘What about the image from the bus?’

He clicked a second window and brought up the comments section that followed the post appealing for anyone who might recognise the fancy dress costume worn by the suspect. It hadn’t yet been online an hour, but already a stream of comments was strung beneath it. Most were expressing anger at the attack, but there were the inevitable jokers who thought it appropriate to make wisecracks at the expense of a victim of crime.

The kid got battered by Funny Bones, someone had posted. #fail

‘There’s always a comedian,’ Chloe observed. ‘Some of these people need to get a job – they’ve got too much time on their hands. Dan. Dan …’ She waved a hand in front of his face. ‘Don’t let me keep you here,’ she said.

‘Sorry,’ he said, returning his gaze to the computer screen. ‘Have we found out where the outfit might have been bought yet?’

‘There are three possible shops north of Pontypridd. One in Porth, one in Tonypandy and the third in Treorchy. Alex and I are going to pay them a visit after we track down Gavin Jones. He’s conveniently nowhere to be found.’ She glanced behind her, checking Alex hadn’t returned. ‘She hasn’t said anything to you, has she?’

‘About what?’

He realised his response was too abrupt, his defensive tone too apparent. He’d tried to tell himself it was only a kiss, but it hadn’t done anything to ease his guilt. If his wife had kissed another man, he knew exactly how he’d react.

‘Her car. I’ve tried to speak to her, but she won’t talk about it. She was in a bad enough mood yesterday, but this morning was something else. I don’t know what I’ve done to upset her.’

Dan shook his head. He had promised Alex he wouldn’t mention the cut brake fluid line to anyone and he certainly wasn’t going to go back on that promise now. ‘She shouldn’t have spoken to you like that this morning. She was out of order.’

Chloe shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

Her expression suggested it clearly did matter. Dan knew she looked up to Alex, and being berated like that in front of the team would have hurt her more than she was letting on.

‘Chloe.’

She turned at the sound of her name, feeling her face flush at the sight of Alex standing behind them. She hoped Alex hadn’t overheard any of the conversation that had just passed between her and Dan.

‘Just got another call in,’ Alex told her. ‘We might have the name of our dead man.’