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gorilla-man behind held up a laminated colour photocopy of a blond seven year old beaming at the camera. Nicholas jolted.
    It’s Tristram. But Tristram’s been dead twenty-five years.
    He leaned in to look more closely.
    The photograph was recent. In the background was an LCD TV. The boy wore a Spiderman 3 T-shirt. Nevertheless, he looked eerily similar to Nicholas’s childhood friend.
    Who was murdered , Nicholas reminded himself.
    His heart was pumping hard. He shook his head. ‘No.’
    But the officers had seen the frisson of recognition. They exchanged a glance, then returned their steady gazes to Nicholas.
    ‘Are you sure, sir?’ asked Fossey.
    ‘Yep. Really. I just got in from overseas tonight.’
    ‘Tonight, sir? What time was that?’
    ‘Half past ten or so.’
    Nicholas licked his lips. The police weren’t moving.
    ‘Did you come straight home, sir?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘Did you stop anywhere?’ asked gorilla-man.
    Yes , thought Nicholas. The woods. He’d stopped at the woods, amazed to see them still as potent and thick as ever. He’d walked halfway to their edge. Had been drawn to them. But why? He couldn’t explain that to himself, let alone the police. Randomly scoping out dark woods in the middle of the rainy night when a boy happens to go missing? God, you’re acting like a guilty man! They don’t need to know that. Snap out of it!
    ‘No.’
    Officer Fossey reached for his notebook. Gorilla-man’s right hand casually slipped down to hang straight beside his leg, closer to his service pistol.
    ‘What’s your name, sir?’
    ‘Nicholas Close. Look—’
    The officer wrote in his notebook, asked, ‘C-L-O-S-E?’
    ‘What’s going on, Nicky?’ Katharine arrived silently behind her son, fumbling with her dressing gown’s sash.
    The policemen exchanged a glance.
    ‘A young boy has been reported missing, ma’am.’
    Silverback held the picture up for Katharine.
    ‘Oh dear.’ Nicholas, who knew her voice so well, could just detect a quiver. ‘Local boy?’
    ‘Yes, ma’am. This gentleman told us he returned from overseas tonight?’
    Nicholas saw his mother’s eyes narrow just the slightest margin.
    ‘My son. That’s right.’
    ‘What time did he arrive?’
    ‘Just after eleven thirty. His flight touched down at nine fifty, which means he made excellent time getting through customs, hiring a car and getting home here.’ Her words came clipped and fast, the shake replaced by something harder. ‘We talked in our kitchen till quarter past twelve and both went to bed, and it certainly is tragic that a boy’s got himself lost in this rain but I’m not sure I quite understand where this is going.’
    The two big men shifted back an almost imperceptible amount. Nicholas sagged a little. He was in his mid-thirties and still needed his mother to keep him out of trouble.
    ‘Ma’am, we’re just asking questions,’ said Fossey.
    ‘I do understand that. Have you got any more?’
    The officers exchanged a glance.
    ‘No, ma’am. Catherine with a C?’
    ‘With a K and two As. Best of luck, Constables. I hope and pray the young lad turns up safe.’
    Fossey led Silverback into the rain.
    Katharine shut the door. She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I just hate the fact that if you’re a man you’re automatically a potential sex fiend. Women do it too, you know.’
    Nicholas nodded. He felt awfully tired, but sleep seemed a huge ocean away. As they started back down the hall, he saw veins like purple worms crawling on her ankles.
    ‘What woke you up, Mum?’
    Katharine looked at him, opened her mouth to lie. But she hesitated. And in that moment, Nicholas saw again the tally of years on his mother’s face.
    We’re getting old.
    ‘I had a bad dream. About you when you were small. You and your friend up the road.’
    ‘Tristram Boye. Did you see how much that boy . . .’
    She nodded. ‘Only in the dream, it was you . . .’
    Her voice trailed off to nothing.
    Who died.
    The rumble of