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wall, see that there were also people dotted around the cemetery, watching as keenly as those at the front of the house. A single
figure moved, and she had just reached the wall when he first spotted her. She half climbed, half fell over it. He stepped forward to help her, but she waved him way,
    ‘What’s happening?’ she gasped.
    ‘Do you live here?’ he asked.
    She shook her head, but didn’t answer. Instead she pushed past him as if taking in the full extent of the blaze for the very first time. ‘Is there anyone round the front?’
    ‘Is this your house?’ Goodhew wasn’t sure if she’d heard, because she never took her eyes from the upstairs window. ‘I’m a police officer,’ he
explained, then repeated, ‘Is this your house?’
    She darted forward, but instinctively he grabbed her arm.
    ‘There’s someone inside,’ she yelled, and fought to free herself.
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘I saw someone move. I saw them,’ she screamed. ‘Up there, look.’ She pointed to the left one of the pair of upstairs windows.
    ‘No, no.’ He held on to her. ‘It’s just how the flames look.’
    ‘Someone walked past that window. I saw them.’
    He paused, eyes fixed on the void that had once been a bedroom window, then he saw it too. But it wasn’t a person, just a ghost, created from smoke and shadow and flame, that calmly
stepped through the inferno. That was no longer a bedroom, or the place for any living creature. The building’s only remaining role was to burn.
    ‘There’s no one,’ he shouted.
    She stopped struggling to escape him, and he then knew that she believed him. ‘I need to find my son,’ she gasped. ‘Have you seen a little boy?’
    ‘No, I haven’t. Where should he be?’
    ‘He was here . . .’ She averted her eyes from the house. ‘He must be out at the front,’ she replied decisively.
    Goodhew understood how she was more than aware of the alternative statement but wasn’t willing to consider it. Smoke hung round the passageway, a faint but regular flash of blue light
penetrating it from the far end. He now held on to the hope that they would find her child safe and probably in the care of the emergency services. ‘I’ll walk round to the front with
you, but we’ll never get through here.’
    They started to climb over the wall together, but by the time he’d managed just a few steps over the uneven ground, she had covered twice the distance. As he scrambled after her, only the
pale gravestones were visible, yet she wove her way between them with surefooted ease. He knew that somewhere along this perimeter wall there was a gate that would lead through the car park of some
small business units, and back out on to Gwydir Street. He only knew its approximate location, but she found it at once, and was halfway over the adjoining wall when he finally caught up with
her.
    ‘The gate’s locked,’ she explained, then swung her other leg over and dropped to the ground behind.
    He followed, inquiring, ‘How old is he?’
    ‘Two,’ she replied, but didn’t wait for him.
    He caught her again as she turned through the car park, towards the street. The houses facing them were ominously well lit by the colours of emergency.
    ‘His name’s Riley,’ she added.
    ‘And who’s he supposed to be with?’
    ‘My friend, Rachel . . .’ Perhaps she might have added a surname, perhaps not, but at that moment she turned the corner and saw the full chaos of firemen, residents, smoke, water and
devastation. She stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh fuck,’ she whispered, then began shouting to the people standing closest. ‘Have you seen a little boy? I’m looking for my little
boy, Riley. He’s with my friend, Rachel. I’m looking for Rachel and Riley.’
    A few people shook their heads, while a few others just turned away.
    Goodhew grabbed her arm and guided her through the crowd. ‘What’s your friend’s last name?’ he asked quickly.
    ‘Golinski.’
    ‘And your