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When it came to vanishing teenagers, the word ‘runaway’ was always above the word ‘abducted’ on the list of possibilities. Even an ostentatious liberal like Reynolds knew that if they treated every teenage disappearance like a kidnap, they’d spend their lives winkling sulky kids from under their best friends’ beds or throwing a big net over them in London bus stations. The truth was that most kids simply went home, and – unless there was clear evidence of abduction – there was an unofficial 24-hour period when it was assumed that that was exactly what would happen.

It hadn’t happened in this case. Yet. The file told Reynolds that the local community beat officer had been called and had cautiously started the ball rolling – calling friends and family, searching woods and outbuildings near Jess’s home. If she’d been eight years old, the Seventh Cavalry would have been dispatched at once. But thirteen? There were different attitudes to teenagers. So Sunday had been a ‘wait and see’ day. Wait for Jess to get cold or bored or hungry or forgiving, and see her walk up the driveway to either her father’s home or her mother’s. When she didn’t appear at either by Sunday lunchtime, Taunton was alerted, Reynolds was assigned and the case took on an official urgency.

Now – on Monday morning – it would begin in earnest: the formal interviews with friends and family, the organization of the searches and of the scores of volunteers who were sure to come forward. The discreet but close examination of every single one of those volunteers, in case one might be the kidnapper trying to insert himself into the investigation. Or herself, Reynolds thought. Best to keep an open mind about these matters. Although, of course, women who stole children generally took babies, out of some kind of primal desperation. Men who stole children, on the other hand …

Reynolds didn’t bother completing the thought. Imagining what might be happening to Jess Took was counterproductive to the point of madness. He needed to keep a little distance from the nitty-gritty of such an investigation to maintain any sense of perspective.

Rice hadn’t said anything about his hair.

Reynolds wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

Rice gave a low whistle as they swung round a bend in John Took’s driveway. ‘Nice,’ she said, and it was.

A whitewashed longhouse covered in great clumps of wisteria faced the wide gravel drive. Alongside was a block of half a dozen stables. The large garden was mown and edged to within an inch of its life. There were three cars on the driveway – none worth less than a year’s salary to a Detective Inspector.

Reynolds immediately put ‘ransom’ up to number two on his chart of possible motives for the kidnap of Jess Took.

Inside, the house was furnished with a surfeit of money and a dearth of taste. There were several overstuffed tartan sofas, a dozen garish hunting scenes, and a brass and glass coffee table straining under the weight of a bronze horse almost big enough to ride.

John Took was a broad man with the florid complexion that comes from drink or weather. Reynolds wondered which it was. Possibly both. There were two women in the house, too – Jess’s mother, Barbara, and Took’s girlfriend, Rachel Pollack, who with her large blue eyes and long blonde hair was just a younger, slimmer version of Barbara.

Slimmer and dimmer, Reynolds gathered from just a few minutes’ discourse with them both. Perfect for a man in the throes of a mid-life crisis. Reynolds had never been married but was pretty sure he’d be better at it than most men. He’d once seen a bumper sticker that said A WIFE IS FOR LIFE, NOT JUST THE HONEYMOON. Too true.

The dynamics of this threesome were interesting. Although Rachel clutched John Took’s hand throughout in a show of sympathy bordering on custody, it was plain to see that the real connection here – the blood connection – was between Took and his ex. They shared the same shaky tension, the same brittle hope, the same disregard for anything that was not Jess-related. More than once, Reynolds saw Rachel’s mouth tighten petulantly as she watched the interplay.

They hadn’t had any contact from anyone claiming to have abducted Jess.

‘If we had, we’d feel better,’ said Barbara Took, and Reynolds felt the same way. Knowing was always better than not knowing. And they’d have somewhere to start.

‘Does Jess have a boyfriend?’ he asked, and both parents shook their heads vehemently.

‘She’s only thirteen,’ said Took.

‘I would know,’ said Barbara.

Reynolds put a question mark next to the word ‘boyfriend’ in his notebook.

He asked to see Jess’s room – the best one in the house, and messy in the way that only teenagers know how to pull off. It set Reynolds’s teeth on edge and made him happy he didn’t have kids.

‘Mr Rabbit!’ said Barbara Took tearfully, picking a floppy old toy off the floor. ‘She would never leave Mr Rabbit.’