‘She’s scary, isn’t she?’ said Tom in a low voice.

‘Well, I didn’t get a proper look.’ They were close to the churchyard wall now. ‘Tom, do you have any idea who she is, where she lives?’ Harry asked. ‘She can’t live out in the hills, she must belong somewhere.’ She had a key to the Renshaw tomb. Could she possibly…?

‘She usually runs away when I see her,’ said Tom. ‘I’m pretty certain she talks to Joe, though.’

‘Do you think Joe’s with her now? Do you think she took him?’

Tom gave a small nod. ‘I said that to the police,’ he said, ‘but they said anyone who looks as strange as she does would have been spotted in Blackburn, especially in King George’s Hall. They think Joe was taken by a grown-up.’

‘All the same, I wish we could find her. Tom, did you ever-’

‘Tom! Tom!’

Tom started to trot forward. Harry took a deep breath. ‘He’s here!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘He’s with me!’

A second later Gareth’s head and shoulders appeared over the boundary wall. Pushing himself up, he strode towards his son.

‘Do you have any bloody idea…?’ he began.

Harry stepped forward. ‘Tom couldn’t sleep,’ he said quickly. ‘He came out to look for Joe. He met me just down the hill.’

‘Your mother nearly had heart failure. Now get inside.’

‘Take it easy, buddy,’ said Harry.

Gareth lifted his hands to his face and breathed heavily. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Come on, matey.’ He reached out and pulled his son to him. Tom wrapped an arm round his father’s waist and they walked together to the churchyard entrance. Harry followed behind, spotting Alice at their front door, watching them. Her thin body seemed to be jerking; he wondered if she were struggling not to cry – or scream. Across the street, lights were being switched on, curtains drawn back. He and Gareth had woken half Heptonclough with their yelling.

Harry fell back as Gareth and Tom left the church grounds and headed back to their house. It was almost seven. He reached the churchyard entrance and stopped. He should go home and change, eat breakfast. In another hour it would be completely light and Rushton and his team would arrive. They’d have eight, maybe nine hours of daylight.

Someone was watching him. He turned to face uphill. The silver Audi was tucked up tightly against the church wall. Evi had just climbed out, using a stick to steady herself. She waited for him to go to her.

‘WHERE THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? DO YOU have any idea how worried I was about you?’

He was holding her by the upper arms; it was too angry to be a hug, too intimate to be anything else. He smelled of sweat and dust and candle smoke. His eyes were bloodshot. She reached up, stroked the stubble on his chin.

‘Where did you spend the night?’ she asked, feeling her jaw trembling and thinking that if he didn’t let her go soon, she’d start to cry and that really would be the end of her ability to function.

Harry took one hand off her arm to rub it across his face. ‘You really don’t want to know,’ he replied, releasing her and pushing his hands into his pockets. ‘Come and get some breakfast with me.’

There was nothing she’d like more. Have breakfast at his house, run a bath for him, watch him shave. She shook her head. ‘I haven’t time,’ she said. ‘I have to put calls out to all the local hospitals and talk to the district GP when Saturday-morning surgery opens. If a child was born with congenital hypothyroidism in the last thirty years, there must be a record somewhere. And I said I’d go to the press conference with the family.’

‘What happened to you yesterday?’ Harry asked her.

Evi sighed. ‘I went to see my supervisor,’ she said. ‘He’s had some forensic experience so I thought his take on things would be useful. I can fill you in later. Finding Ebba is the key thing.’

‘Did you see Gillian?’ asked Harry, not quite meeting her eyes.

‘Late last night. It didn’t go well.’ Over his shoulder she could see people heading for the church. ‘The other thing I need to do is find another doctor to take over her case,’ she went on. ‘I’m going to try and get her seen today. I’m really quite worried.’

Two elderly women were waiting just a few yards away, obviously wanting to speak to him. She looked at her watch. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ She turned to her car and stopped. ‘Could use some of that faith of yours right now,’ she said. ‘Any going spare?’

If he replied, she didn’t hear him.

HARRY TURNED FROM EVI TO SEE MINNIE HAWTHORN AND one of her friends at the entrance to the churchyard. Their eyes seemed to peel him like a vegetable as he walked towards them, taking in his creased clothes, his unshaven face.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said, wondering where he was going to find the energy to be polite to small-minded, nosy old crones, who were probably only here because they were enjoying the drama unfolding on their doorstep.

‘Vigil, was it, Vicar?’ asked Minnie, her eyes travelling to his feet and then up again.

‘Something like that,’ agreed Harry.

‘Church open?’ asked her friend.

Behind him, Harry heard Evi’s car engine start. He nodded.

‘We’ll help ourselves then,’ said Minnie. ‘Sort you out with breakfast in a minute, Vicar.’

Harry turned just as Evi drove past without even glancing his way. Stanley Hargreaves, another of his parishioners, was walking down towards them with two other men. Then a Land Rover appeared from the moor road and pulled up outside the butcher’s shop. Jenny and Mike Pickup sat in the front. Lights flickered on inside the shop. Dick Grimes and his son appeared from a rear door and came out into the street.

‘They won’t wait for the police,’ said Minnie’s companion. ‘They’ll start just as soon as you’ve finished prayers.’

‘Prayers?’ said Harry.

‘Prayers for the little lad,’ said Minnie, taking his arm and leading him towards the church. ‘For his safe return. Come on, Vicar, you seem a bit dopey, if you don’t mind me saying so. I think you need a cup o’ summat hot inside you.’

Evi wiped her eyes as she drove round the corner and could no longer see the church in her rear-view mirror. They filled again in seconds. Gillian was standing outside the front door of her flat. As their eyes met, Evi took her foot off the accelerator and the car slowed down. But she couldn’t stop – what on earth would she say? She put her foot down again and the car shot forward.

Was Gillian planning to join the search? I’ve spent years walking over the moors, I know all the best hiding places. She certainly wasn’t dressed for it, in a thin denim jacket and high-heeled boots.

A sudden vision filled her mind of a small boy’s body, lying under a hedge. The collies would sniff it out, probably even before the police dogs arrived, and it would all be over.

Stop it. Stop it. It’s not over.

She looked at the clock. Saturday-morning surgery ran from ten a.m. to twelve noon. John Warrington was the GP on duty today. The press conference started at ten and would probably run for around forty minutes. It would be tight, but do-able. There was time. It wasn’t over.

So why couldn’t she bloody well stop crying?

The church hadn’t been empty since before dawn. Within half an hour of Evi’s departure, Harry had been fed bacon sandwiches and strong coffee and was holding an impromptu service for the search party. Someone had cleared away his makeshift bed of the night before. Someone else had told him not to bother with robes; in the circumstances, jeans and a sweater would do just fine.

Five minutes after he started, the building was nearly full. Most people had just remained standing at the back and down the sides, as though they could spare the time to pray, but not the time it would take them to sit down. After eight minutes, the police arrived, filing in silently at the back.