By 9 a.m. everyone except Jason regrouped at the farm after an early search. There was no news to report. Maggie was outside smoking when PC Wyndham telephoned. Shona took the message and hung up, her long fingers still resting on the handset.

‘They’re going to send some officers up here,’ she said quietly, looking worried. ‘And she said something about us maybe having to go to the police station too. I don’t know how I’m going to convince your father this is normal.’

‘Convince me about what?’ Patrick was scowling in the doorway.

‘Dad, it’s Rain. She’s still not been found. The police might need some of us to go down to the station,’ Claire said.

He went to the window and stared out. ‘They want to know which one of us killed her.’

‘No, Pat, it’s not like that,’ Angus said. ‘It’s just routine. Probably for elimination prints or to take statements.’

Claire was grateful her uncle and aunt were there. They’d moved to Devon a few years ago but had always been a big part of their lives as children. She’d spent some of her school holidays helping Jenny with the boarding kennels she owned behind their bungalow in Trevellin, or working the petrol pumps in Angus’s garage if there weren’t many dogs to look after. Sometimes Lenni would come and help her feed the dogs. At the end of a long day, they’d go home with the smell of engine oil in their noses and the sound of barking ringing in their ears.

‘No, it’s not like that at all, Dad,’ she added, staring out of the window with him.

---

When Claire arrived at the police station, she was taken to an interview room located down a grey, lino-clad corridor. She was shown into an equally grey and sparsely furnished room where the two officers from the night before were sitting on one side of a small table. They glanced up from the thick file that sat between them, PC Wyndham beckoning for her to sit down. But Claire’s limbs were suddenly heavy and unmovable, her eyes fixed on the stack of papers on the table. The name Eleanor Lucas was printed in an old-fashioned font on a peeling sticky label. Claire swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She looked at the officer, unable to speak.

‘Please, sit down.’

Finally, she managed to pull out the chair and lower herself onto it. ‘That’s my sister’s file,’ she whispered, hardly daring to hope they’d had news after all these years. Seeing the papers, it was as if Lenni herself was on the table.

‘My boss worked on this,’ PC Wyndham explained, patting the files. ‘I was discussing your friend’s daughter with her when I came on shift. I told her where Rain was staying and she remembered the farm and your sister’s case.’

Claire tried to recall the many officers and detectives who were in and out that summer. Their faces had melted into a puddle now, just one formless memory who were called the police, rather than individual names.

‘I don’t understand,’ Claire said.

‘My boss made us aware of some similarities between the cases.’

Claire held her breath, but her lungs gave way and she made a hiccupping sound instead.

‘We wanted to talk to you about your sister, given what’s happened,’ PC Holt said, sipping from a polystyrene cup. They each had one.

‘If you think it will help,’ Claire said, unable to ask outright if they thought there was a link to Rain going missing. ‘Are you reopening the case?’

‘Eleanor went missing from Trevellin Beach aged thirteen,’ PC Wyndham said, her finger lightly tracking details in the papers. Neither officer answered Claire’s question. ‘It says she’d gone off alone to buy an ice cream?’

Claire nodded, feeling the familiar knot of guilt on hearing the words “gone off alone”. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘You and your brother Jason were looking after Eleanor?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was turned down to a whisper as she recalled the grilling she’d received over the following days. It had been so intense she wondered if she was actually guilty of a crime.

Over and over again, she’d told them every shred of information she could recall – from the shade of pink she’d painted Lenni’s toenails that morning right down to the length of the first and last kiss she’d shared with Nick in the breakers. And I remember a green and white plastic bag blowing along the beach as Lenni walked off and someone had a transistor playing Radio 1 and the sea was particularly full of seaweed that day… None of it had been helpful. Nothing she’d said had led to Lenni being found.

‘Rain Carr came to Trevellin with her mother Maggie early on Saturday morning.’ Claire was aware of PC Wyndham’s voice again. She focused, trying to listen, trying to be helpful. ‘She was staying at the farm, the property owned by your parents.’

‘Yes.’

The day they tried to accuse one or both of her parents of harming Lenni was the day, deep down, they knew she would never come back. For the police to make such monstrous allegations, the family knew they’d got nothing better to go on. Their leads had run out. Down at the police station, Patrick and Shona were each battered by a flood of questions and accusations – that Lenni had had an accident and they’d hidden her body, that she was a naughty, disruptive child and they wanted rid of her, that Patrick had abused her and Lenni was threatening to tell. As the detectives ripped apart their lives, Shona and Patrick remained stoic and unflinching, knowing they were innocent.

‘There’s an age gap between the girls,’ PC Wyndham said.

‘How is that relevant?’ Claire asked, touching her forehead. She felt dizzy and lightheaded.

‘We’re just noting some basic facts.’

‘Of course.’ Claire wasn’t prepared for this reopening of old wounds, though she and the others had already clocked the similarities. They just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge them.

‘Several witnesses confirmed that Eleanor arrived at the beach shop and bought an ice cream.’ The constable was scanning the file as she spoke. ‘But then nothing. No more sightings. An ice cream cone was later found with her saliva on it. Its location suggested she’d intended taking the shortcut back to the beach, down the shingle path.’

‘Mum always told us not to go that way,’ Claire said. ‘And I told her a hundred times too. But I don’t see how this can help find Rain. Lots of people buy ice cream at the beach. It’s surely just a coincidence.’

PC Holt tapped his pen against the edge of the desk in a slow, unpredictable beat. ‘Eleanor’s shorts were also found,’ he said, fixing his eyes on her. ‘Denim shorts,’ he stated, as if the fabric was significant. ‘There were sporadic footprints too, matching the size and type of shoe that Eleanor was wearing. Plastic sandals bought from Woolworths, the records show. The prints led to the area east of the cliff path towards a remote car park.’

‘It’s a place where couples often go to… you know…’ Claire said quietly.

‘Those findings suggested she was possibly being carried off, that there was a struggle. Her feet were sometimes on the ground, sometimes not.’

Claire suddenly felt sick. She hadn’t known this. She couldn’t keep the image of Lenni being grabbed, being dragged off screaming, from her mind. She wondered if her parents had been told and chose to shield her from the truth. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Sometimes examining old evidence can throw light on new.’

‘I just want to know if you’re reopening my sister’s case,’ Claire said, desperate.

‘That’s not a decision we’re making right now,’ PC Wyndham said. ‘But any cold case can be reopened if new evidence comes to light.’

Claire thought about the implications. What if the same person who’d taken Lenni had also taken Rain? So far, she’d imagined Maggie’s daughter going off in a strop and getting into trouble somehow – whether that involved the cliffs, the sea or another person. She’d prayed the coastguard would have found her by now, cut off on a sandbank or stranded on a jut of rock by the tide. But as the hours went by, that was seeming less and less likely.

‘There was one thing in the file we hoped you could help us with, Mrs Rodway,’ PC Holt said. He sat upright, stretching out his shoulders. ‘Rain’s mother said that she has a tattoo on her ankle.’

‘I don’t think Maggie was very happy about it,’ Claire said. ‘She’s not strict in many ways, but I know she didn’t like it.’

‘Did you ever see the tattoo?’

‘No, I didn’t. Not properly anyway. I was aware it was there, but I didn’t want to stare because Maggie had told me they’d had words about it. A big argument, actually. Why are you asking?’ Claire suddenly went cold. What if this was actually for identification purposes and they wanted to check with her first before upsetting Maggie?

PC Wyndham retrieved a piece of paper from another, slimmer file. She slid it across so Claire could see it. ‘What do you make of this?’

There was a symbol drawn in Biro as if whoever had done it had gone over and over it until they’d almost scored through the paper. Goose bumps broke out all over her body. ‘Yes, it’s familiar,’ she said, looking away.

The officer then pulled an old, slightly creased colour photograph from Eleanor’s file. It was about six by eight inches and had a fold on one corner as if it had been put away carelessly. The image showed a silver charm, about half an inch long, sitting on a pale surface with a ruler beneath it. Claire stared at it, then looked back at the sketch. It was a moment before she breathed properly. ‘I don’t understand…’ she began, though wondered if she did. ‘That’s Lenni’s charm. The one from her necklace. We both had one.’

‘That’s correct,’ PC Holt said. ‘And this,’ he said, tapping the paper, ‘is what Rain has tattooed on her ankle. Maggie drew it for us.’

Claire nodded slowly. ‘They’re the same.’ The officers didn’t say anything. Rather they looked at Claire, waiting for her to continue. ‘This charm… Mum and Dad gave Lenni and me one each.’ She kept her eyes on the photograph. ‘They were on silver chains,’ she continued. ‘But Lenni couldn’t stop fiddling with hers and broke it within a day. She was so upset so she carried it around in her pocket instead. I told her she’d end up losing it.’ Claire felt the first sting of tears. ‘They weren’t valuable, but we loved them.’ And Lenni had indeed lost her little charm – just not in the way she’d expected. ‘I eventually lost my necklace too,’ Claire went on. ‘I always kept it in my jewellery box, but one day it just vanished. I didn’t really look very hard for it, I suppose.’

‘So,’ PC Holt went on. ‘An ankh charm and an ankh tattoo.’

Claire’s mouth went dry. She had no idea what they were implying.

‘What’s it called, Phil?’ PC Wyndham asked her colleague.

‘It’s a hieroglyph,’ he replied, tapping the photo again. ‘Some Egyptian thing. I went to Sharm El Sheikh diving a couple of years ago. They’re all over the place there.’

PC Wyndham arced her head in understanding.

‘It says here that Eleanor’s charm was found about four inches away from her shorts. In the grass. The shorts were wet from sea water…’ His finger tracked down the report, skim-reading the information.

‘I don’t understand. If you know something, please tell me.’ Claire remembered the nasty message and the incident at Galen Cottage, wishing she or Jason had called the police. If she said anything now, they’d wonder why she hadn’t mentioned it sooner.

‘Apart from the charm, does the symbol have any particular meaning to you or your family?’ PC Holt asked, crushing his empty cup and tossing it in the bin. He missed and it spun onto the floor. ‘It’s also known as the key of life.’

Claire shook her head slowly, but all she could think of was the scrawl she’d spotted etched into the dirt on the back of her car.