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around a yard, or called for his mum when he fell and scraped a knee, fought with his brother at bedtime. Only the way they’d looked when they died, so tightly curled together, hinted at how they might have been, alive. The older child protecting the smaller one, or simply sharing body heat, trying to keep warm.
    ‘Ron wants to look at child sex offenders in the area,’ Noah said. ‘I told him to go ahead.’
    ‘Make sure he understands we’re talking at least four years ago.’
    Noah nodded. After a moment, he said, ‘Who is gutless Douglas?’
    ‘He’s an accountant, a friend of the Finchers.’
    ‘Commander Welland likes him for this . . .’
    ‘We’d all like a short cut to finding whoever put those children down there.’ Marnie didn’t want to raise Noah’s hopes. ‘Mr Cole rubbed Welland up the wrong way, it’s true. But you and I know how easily that’s done.’
    ‘You don’t fancy Cole for this?’
    ‘Not remotely.’ She paused. ‘But I’ve been known to get things wrong. I’ve got his number. We’ll talk with him as soon as he’s home. And we’ll talk with the Finchers.’
    ‘The family with the missing child . . . But that ended happily, you said.’
    ‘People have long memories, and it was messy for a while. I’ll brief the team about it. We should lean on Missing Persons. The sooner we have names, the better.’
    ‘Ron’s on it,’ Noah said.
    Someone was missing the dead children, whether or not they were siblings. Perhaps Marnie should hope for brothers; only one set of parents to be broken by the news. Assuming they didn’t already know what had happened. Assuming theyweren’t responsible for making, or letting, it happen. Sooner or later, they were going to have to entertain that possibility.
    ‘They looked like brothers,’ Noah said. ‘The way they were sleeping . . .’ Sadness thinned his face. ‘I think they were brothers.’
     • • • 
    As they reached the station, Marnie’s phone played Fran Lennox’s tune.
    She swung into the car park and picked up. ‘Fran, you’ve got something for me?’ Her eyes went to Noah. ‘For us?’
    ‘You’re not going to like it,’ Fran said, ‘but yes. Not much, not yet, but something.’
    ‘I’ll be right over.’ Marnie ended the call.
    ‘News?’ Noah asked. An edge in his voice; on his guard against this case.
    Marnie wondered in what way Sol, Noah’s brother, had been a more typical teenage boy. Less sensitive, perhaps, or more content with easy answers to life’s worst questions.
    ‘Stay here. Organise the house-to-house at the flats, and keep an eye on the team.’ She could sense their frustration already, like too much static. ‘I’ll get back as soon as I can.’
    ‘What about the press briefing?’ Noah asked.
    ‘Stall it. Tell them we’re doing real police work and remind them it takes time. If we’re lucky, some of them might even appreciate that.’

8
    Fran said, ‘They’re boys. Neither is older than eight. It’s not infallible, but going by the length of the molars and the chin span, I’d say we have two boys, one about eight years old, the other between four and five. I’ll know more when I’ve done the proper tests.’
    Marnie pulled out a chair and sat the other side of Fran’s desk. The office was tiny, barely enough room for one person, let alone two. ‘What else?’
    Fran had a plate of toast, and two big mugs of tea. Marnie had never seen her eat proper food. It explained how ravenous she always looked, a starving pixie with a spiky blond crop. ‘I think they’re brothers. I can’t confirm it without tests, but you saw the shape of their skulls. Too similar for it to be a coincidence. And the short shin bones, narrow shoulders . . .’ She folded a slice of toast and took a bite. ‘Of course some of it’s due to malnutrition, and light deprivation. I’d say they were down there a good few weeks before they died.’
    ‘And how long afterwards, how long since