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police officer. In the few short years between retirement and an early death, his relationship with Hol and’s mother had fal en into exactly the pattern that Parsons was talking about.
    ‘What about the kid?’
    ‘You seen his room?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘It’s a lot different to my lad’s, I can tel you that. I don’t think we’re talking about your average sixteen-year-old.’
    ‘The average sixteen-year-old doesn’t get kidnapped,’ Hol and said.
    ‘It’s al a touch too neat and tidy.’ Parsons made a face, as if the very notion were somehow distasteful. ‘And I wouldn’t put a lot of money on finding any wank-mags under the bed.’
    He stopped as he saw Hol and’s expression change, and turned to see the girl standing in the doorway. ‘Juliet . . .’
    Hol and had no way of knowing how long Juliet Mul en had been standing outside the door, how much of their conversation she’d overheard. He couldn’t tel if her manner and the tone of her voice were because she was angry with them or upset about what had happened to her brother, or simply down to the fact that she was an average fourteen-year-old.
    The girl half turned to go, then nodded towards the tray and spoke casual y, as if she were insulting them in code: ‘I’l have tea. Milk and two.’
    ‘What time does your post come?’ Thorne asked.
    ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘What time in the morning? Mine’s al over the bloody place. It’s any time before lunchtime, real y, and stuff gets lost right, left and centre.’
    If Tony Mul en knew where Thorne was going, he showed no sign of it. ‘Between eight and nine, usual y. I don’t see—’
    ‘Your wife said that she stopped you from phoning the police straight away.’
    ‘She didn’t stop me . . .’
    ‘That she didn’t think there was anything to worry about.’
    ‘I wouldn’t have cal ed immediately anyway. There was no reason to.’
    Thorne strol ed around the sofa, walked to the opposite side of the fireplace to where Maggie Mul en was crushing her cigarette butt into an ashtray. ‘Sorry, I may have got the wrong end of the stick, but your wife certainly implied that you were worried; or at least concerned. That’s why I was asking about what time your post arrived.’ Thorne caught Porter’s eye; saw that she understood. ‘I think you were expecting a ransom demand. I think you presumed that someone had snatched Luke and that you’d hear from them yesterday morning. I think you were probably waiting to find out exactly what they wanted and that you were planning to handle it yourself. When you didn’t get anything in the post, that’s when you really started to worry, when you started to wonder what might have happened. That’s when you cal ed us.’
    Maggie Mul en walked across the room and sat down on the arm of her husband’s chair. Her hand moved very briefly to his, then back into her lap. ‘Tony tends to look on the blacker side of things a lot of the time.’
    ‘The Job does that to most of us,’ Porter said.
    ‘Look, it’s understandable.’ Thorne was stil trying to connect with Tony Mul en. ‘I’m sure I would have thought the same thing.’
    ‘I knew he’d been kidnapped before I went to bed on Friday night,’ Mul en said. He looked up at Thorne, something like relief on his face. ‘I was brushing my teeth and Maggie was sorting the dog out downstairs, and I knew someone had taken him. Was holding him. Luke wasn’t the type to just go off, certainly not without letting us know where he was.’
    ‘Like I said, it’s understandable. In light of your career, you’ve got every reason to believe there might be people who would want to hurt you. Or hurt those close to you.’
    Mul en said something, but Thorne couldn’t make it out.

    He couldn’t hear much for a second or two.
    He was straining to make out the voice of his father above the roar and hot spit of long-dead flames . . .
    ‘We’l need a list,’ he said, final y. ‘Anyone who might bear a