Covered in a slick film of sweat from his efforts working in the basement, Justin wiped his arm across his forehead and checked his watch. It was early morning, he realised. Time he called it quits. He wasn’t sure why he’d decided to come here, to carry on working on the studio. And then he realised it was because he saw Sophie and Luke wherever he went in the house; he would hear them. It was to be in touch with his children.

Tidying up his tools, double-checking he had all the equipment he would need, he turned his attention to the additional LED lighting he’d been installing. The soundproofing had already been done when he’d suspected the existing lighting wasn’t sufficient. Wanting the studio to be finished for Sophie’s sixteenth, he’d been planning to strip the insulation away and replace the spotlights. Her sixteenth had come and gone. The lighting had never been done. He’d come here on her birthday, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to disturb anything; not that day.

He would finish it. He was determined to. It was his way of keeping hope alive, he supposed. Hope that when she came back, it would be ready. When he’d finished it though, what then? What if Sophie didn’t come back? He wasn’t ready to contemplate that. Wearily, he climbed the steps back to the hall, where the melodic sound of a child’s innocent laughter greeted him. He’d heard it when he’d come once before. It had worried him then. Today, it didn’t bother him. He found it quite soothing.

She’d learned to ride her bike, stabiliser-free, here in the hall, he recalled. It had been snowing that day. His gaze travelled the length of the long flagstone floor, where he could see her pedalling furiously, laughing delightedly when she’d realised he’d let go of the saddle and she was doing it all on her own. She’d abandoned her bike and run back to him, when the rug had slipped from under him and he’d ended up flat on his back, cracking his head on the tiles. ‘Is it hurting, Daddy?’ she’d asked him, her beautiful chestnut eyes wide with alarm.

‘It’s hurting, baby,’ he said now to the wispy spirit of her. So much, I don’t think I can bear it. Closing his eyes, he swallowed and headed for the stairs, planning to take a shower before leaving. Where he was staying, hot water was a luxury in the bathroom he shared with the other tenants. He didn’t need luxury. He needed to function, to wash himself awake, wash the grime from his soul after endless days traipsing the bowels of the city, seeing things he’d always been aware of but could never have truly imagined.

The hallucinations, if that’s what they were, were worse upstairs, where the smells of his family were overwhelming: Alicia’s lingering perfume; the faded scent of the joss sticks Sophie burned. The sounds. Wherever he went, he couldn’t escape them: Sophie’s soulful singing; the butterfly wind chime Alicia had hung in the nursery to encourage Luke’s hand movements; Luke’s gurgles of pleasure as he batted it or managed to catch hold of it. That was the sound that haunted him most. Even in the basement, he heard it. In his single room, he heard it. It would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Hearing the chimes as he bypassed the nursery room door, Justin didn’t try to block it out, accepting it instead as part of the insanity his life had become. It was possible, he supposed, that he might be going out of his mind. He couldn’t seem to keep a rein on his thoughts – definitely not on his emotions. Everything seemed to mingle into one lately: days, nights, dreams, reality. He’d be thinking, only to realise he’d been verbalising his thoughts. Talking, only to realise he’d stopped and drifted off into some distant memory. When he counted, he sometimes found himself counting out loud, which earned him wary looks from people passing by.

Would it bother him, he wondered as he showered, if the only sounds he heard were those of his kids? If he simply stopped functioning in other areas of his life? He wasn’t sure it would. He didn’t want to let go of them. Couldn’t.

---

Towelling his hair ten minutes later, he was halfway down the stairs when he realised there was someone at the front door. Justin quashed his irritation as he pulled the door open to find Taylor standing there. Was he doing follow-up calls now, checking up on victims of crime? As if they gave a damn any more who’d broken into their house. That was history. The here and now, the painful reality, was that their daughter was still missing. They still had no idea where she was. And this paragon of the law, what was he doing? Nothing.

Sighing, Justin draped his towel around his neck and eyed the man questioningly.

‘We have the forensics team here.’ Taylor offered him his short smile – and a completely nonsensical explanation for his visit.

‘Forensics?’ Justin squinted at him, confused.

Taylor knitted his brow. ‘I left you a message, on your voicemail. I spoke with your sister-in-law, too. She said she would pass the information on to Alicia. I assumed she might have told you.’

‘No.’ Justin shook his head. It seemed Alicia wasn’t in the habit of telling him very much at all. ‘No, she didn’t. So, what is it you’re looking for?’

‘Anything we might have missed,’ Taylor supplied. ‘There’s been another break-in in the area. It’s not exactly a crime wave, but we found some footmarks at the other property. I thought it was worth taking another look here. We’ll be concentrating mainly on the gardens, but if it’s inconvenient…? It’s just, as we already have the men here...’

‘No, no major inconvenience.’ Justin sighed, thinking he would need to call Alicia, assuming she didn’t call first to postpone their meeting now the police were here. It occurred to him she might have thought this was a useful way to avoid facing him. It wouldn’t be easy for her: explaining why she’d cheated on him, and then compounded that deceit with a decision that might ultimately crucify him. ‘Help yourself.’ He shrugged indifferently. ‘Have a field day.’

Taylor looked mildly amused at that. ‘Am I to take it you’re moving back in?’ He nodded past him, to where Justin’s tools made it obvious he’d been working.

Justin shook his head. ‘Under the circumstances, no,’ he said, holding the man’s gaze. ‘We might well sell up. I just came to check the house over and attend to a few things.’

‘Oh.’ Taylor nodded awkwardly. ‘That’s a shame. It’s a nice property.’

‘A family property,’ Justin said pointedly. ‘Can I do something else for you, Detective? It’s just that I’d quite like to get on with searching for my daughter.’

Taylor glanced down and back. ‘We are looking, Justin,’ he said, with a heavy sigh. ‘Every one of my officers has her photograph.’

‘You’re not looking hard enough,’ Justin said, attempting – and failing – to quell a rush of anger as he turned away. ‘Fuck it!’ he cursed, managing to trip over the drill he’d left in the hall.

‘Emotions not entirely under control then?’ Taylor observed drily behind him.

‘You know what?’ Disentangling himself from his drill, Justin turned around, making no attempt this time to hide his anger. ‘No, they’re not. Would yours be? I mean, look at it from my point of view: my daughter’s missing and the people who are supposed to be out finding her are digging up my fucking front garden!’

Taylor drew in a breath and stepped inside, nudging the front door closed behind him. Obviously, he didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of the officers whose resources he was wasting on a completely futile task. ‘You need to get some sleep, Justin,’ he said, his expression dour. ‘You’re exhausted.’

Justin laughed. ‘Shrewd observation,’ he said. ‘I can see why you’re a detective.’

‘And make sure you stay away from Paul Radley,’ Taylor added, his eyes holding a warning. ‘He’s leaving for Dubai shortly, isn’t he? Just let him go quietly and try to get on with your life.’

Dragging a hand over his neck, Justin smiled contemptuously. ‘I’d love to,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, thanks to that bastard, I don’t have one.’

‘I get that.’ Taylor nodded empathetically. ‘I’ve been there, remember, though not under such tragic circumstances. But you have to let it go, Justin. Let him go back, and then try to pick up the pieces of your life.’

Justin said nothing. There were no pieces. Clearly, Taylor didn’t get it.

‘Violence rarely solves anything, Justin,’ Taylor went on, echoing what Justin had once thought – in another lifetime. ‘You could well have been up on a charge of grievous bodily harm with intent. How would that have helped anything?’

‘Oh, the intent was definitely there.’ Justin couldn’t help himself.

Shooting him a despairing look, Taylor ignored that. ‘Between you and me, I have no doubt he had it coming, but you don’t deserve the repercussions, and nor does your wife. I might be completely out of line here, and you can tell me to mind my own business, but she cares about you, Justin. Don’t let her go without a fight.’

Justin eyed him with ironic amusement.

‘Of the non-physical variety,’ Taylor added wryly.