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or whether it was simply the result of Stacey’s absence. Ironing and cleaning would surely be the last thing on Dawn’s mind.
                  But then, surely, take away fish and chips and a catch up with Coronation Street would also be way down the bottom on her list of priorities.
    In the car she took her mobile phone from the glove box and called the station.
                  ‘Get a search warrant and get over to the Reed house,’ she told one of the PCs. ‘I know,’ she objected, when reminded that the house had been searched before. ‘Just do it again. I don’t know – anything. Just get over there and see what you can turn up.’
    She turned the car at the end of the street and d rove slowly back past the house. Again the glow of the TV suffused the window and she heard the ringing of laughter, pretty sure that it would continue into the evening despite the absence of the child who should have been there. Kate didn’t have children of her own, but she was adamant that if her six year old daughter had been missing for almost two months, watching Coronation Street and enjoying a take away would be the last thing she would be doing. She wouldn’t be doing anything but looking for her, no matter the cost to her finances or her personal life. Everything would come second to searching for her child. She wouldn’t rest until she had brought her home.
                  If they didn’t find Stacey, she was pretty sure they’d find that bag.
                  Dawn Reed’s words echoed in her head.
                  ‘She loved that bag.’
                  The past tense echoed with finality.
                  Loved that bag.
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Wednesday
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Five
     
    The morning after Kate’s debacle with the Stacey look-alike in Pontypridd, Chris phoned her from the station.
                  ‘I’m sorry I made a no-show last night,’ he apologised.
    ‘No worries,’ Kate said. Something urgent must have happened to keep
    him from meeting her ; Chris would never stand her up without good reason and especially not without calling to apologise.
    ‘Something come up?’
                  ‘Body in a driveway.’
                  ‘Jesus. Who was it?’
                  ‘Accountant. Just a normal, everyday bloke, from what I’ve been told. I’ve just been to see his wife.’
                  Kate paused at the end of the line, thinking about the task Chris had just had to undertake. She knew how much Chris hated this part of the job. Who didn’t?
    ‘How was she?’
    Stupid question, Kate.
                  Chris sighed tiredly. He hadn’t got back home until almost midnight and had been back at the station by half seven that morning. He’d hardly slept in between thinking about the murder and about his daughter.
    ‘As you’d expect,’ he said. ‘Not good.’
                  There was silence for a moment as each contemplated the events of the past twenty four hours. Nothing was ever simple. Whenever things seemed to be straightening themselves out, something else happened to throw the world and their lives back out of sync. When Chris had first started at the station years earlier, Kate had warned him to brace himself for a quiet ride. Nothing much happened in South Wales.
    She had tempted fate . Since then, it seemed, nothing much ever stopped happening.
                  ‘Do you remember Jamie Griffiths?’ he asked.
                  ‘Remind me,’ Kate said, not recalling the name.              
    ‘ Last year,’ Chris reminded her. ‘Caerphilly Road in Cardiff. Guy comes out of a pub and gets his skull smashed in with a hammer.’
                  Of course Kate remembered. The sheer motiveless violence of the incident made it front