Harry lived on the third floor and Jessica was dripping water up the steps as she moved. She wondered if the man she once thought she knew so well might be waiting for her but the landing on the top floor was as deserted as the rest of the building seemed to be.

The falling rain echoed on the roof as Jessica walked along the corridor to Harry’s flat. She knocked but the door swung inwards as it had been left on the latch. Jessica stepped over the threshold and closed it behind her, unclipping the button which allowed it to lock.

‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Harry?’

No one replied and she couldn’t hear any noise. Jessica could only vaguely remember the layout. She was standing in a hallway with two doors on her left, one directly in front of her and another on her right. All of them were closed but she knew the one at the far end led into the living room and dining area. She opened the door, immediately spotting Harry in an armchair watching a portable television in the corner of the room.

The smell was the first thing that struck Jessica. It wasn’t exactly bad but it was as if she had walked through an invisible wall where everything on the other side had a stale odour. It made her remember being fourteen. She had left her PE kit in a bag over the summer holidays and only found it as she was sorting out her belongings for the new term. Her polo shirt and skirt were still caked in soil and grass and it was that exact smell which met her as she walked into Harry’s living room. The place hadn’t been cleaned in a very long time.

He didn’t acknowledge the door opening or even Jessica repeating ‘Harry?’ as he continued watching the screen. It dawned on Jessica that the television was muted but she walked around his chair so she was facing him.

‘Harry, are you okay?’

The man was wearing what would have been smart suit trousers at some point but the black material was grubby and fading. Harry was in his mid-fifties but looked older. He’d been overweight when she worked with him but he had put on at least another stone and a half since then and his belly was bulging against a blue-and-white checked shirt that was only half-buttoned, allowing grey chest hairs to poke out from the top. He used to sweep his hair across his head but had clearly given up and now had a large bald streak. The skin on his face was blotched and red.

Harry finally glanced up at her but wouldn’t meet her eyes, staring off to Jessica’s right. He started as if to speak but began coughing before clearing his throat loudly, then finally found his voice. ‘Detective Sergeant.’

It was an acknowledgement of sorts but his words had no real warmth to them. His north-east accent sounded heavier than Jessica remembered.

‘Are you all right, Harry?’

He nodded but didn’t speak. Jessica saw a bottle of whisky wedged in between his thigh and the chair’s armrest. Perhaps it was because she had seen the bottle but all of a sudden she could smell the alcohol. It was more of an undercurrent to the stale odour she was becoming used to but the sharp scent was distinctive. Harry must have noticed her eyes because he pushed the bottle towards the rear of the seat. When it was clear he wasn’t going to answer, Jessica spoke again. ‘I’m here because I was hoping you could help.’

Harry shifted his gaze back to the television and mumbled quietly, ‘I’m retired.’

‘I know but it’s about a case you worked on fourteen years ago. It’s important.’

He shuffled in his seat and Jessica didn’t think he was going to say anything. Not for the first time that day she was struggling to know how to handle a situation when Harry finally replied. ‘What’s the name?’

Jessica had deliberately left the file in her car because she didn’t want to involve Harry too heavily and didn’t have a photo of the dead driver anyway if he was their link from the old case to the new one. She remembered the name of the missing boy, having read everything available before leaving the station. She guessed they would be two words she wouldn’t be forgetting in a while. ‘Toby Whittaker.’

Harry answered immediately but still didn’t look away from the television. ‘The missing boy.’

It wasn’t a question.

‘Yes.’

‘Did you find him?’

‘No, we . . . think we found his clothes.’

‘A Man City shirt.’ Again it wasn’t a question; Harry knew what he was talking about.

‘Yes, buried in some woods along with a pair of jeans.’

‘Did you find a body yet?’

‘No, a team’s going to excavate around the trees where we found the clothes. It’s a bit strange because the clothes were washed recently and bagged up before being buried. Someone’s kept them all this time.’

Harry nodded, picking up a remote control from a small wooden table next to his chair and switching the television off. He finally looked at Jessica, who was still standing, meeting her eyes. She could see a small twinkle in his that reminded her of working with him and, if you could look past the state of his skin, made him look younger. ‘I knew there was something not quite right but I couldn’t figure it out,’ he said.

‘We’ve been reading back through the files but it doesn’t look as if you ever had a suspect.’

Harry shrugged, sitting up straighter. It was almost as if he was a new person as he spoke with enthusiasm. ‘Are you re-opening the case?’

‘We don’t know. It’s too early to say and it’s not up to me but I would think so.’

‘How did you find the clothes?’

Jessica winced a little, not wanting to go into too many details. ‘We were led there.’

‘There was another body, wasn’t there?’

Jessica didn’t want to shut down Harry’s enthusiasm as she still needed answers. ‘Yes, another child’s.’

‘Isaac Hutchings?’ Jessica was puzzled for a moment but remembered the missing boy had received some low-level media attention. As if reading her thoughts, Harry continued. ‘I still keep up with everything.’

When they had worked together, Harry had always spent time each morning reading the newspapers. His knowledge was borderline encyclopaedic. It didn’t surprise Jessica that he was still keeping up to date. She spoke slowly, weighing up how much she should give away. ‘Yes, Isaac.’

Harry pointed towards a dining table in the far corner of the room. It was made of white plastic and looked as if it belonged outside. Two fold-up stools were leaning against it.

‘Grab a chair,’ he said. Jessica did just that, carrying it across so she was sitting in front of him. Harry was angling forward in his seat and the smell of alcohol was much stronger because of his proximity to her. ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked.

‘Who were your suspects?’

Harry smiled but it was more as if he was enjoying feeling a part of something again than any fond memories of the case. ‘You always look at the parents first. They were right characters and always bickering. I saw them have two blazing rows with each other and I only went to their house three times. I never thought it was either of them though. You get a feeling and they both had alibis. We looked into other family members but there was nothing I remember. There was this neighbour . . .’

Jessica was about to give him the name but Harry waved his hand to stop her. He made an ‘um’ noise for a few moments before clicking his fingers.

‘Someone “Hill”. “Simon Hill”, that’s the guy. He used to live a few doors down from the Whittakers. There was some sort of dispute and I spoke to him. There wasn’t enough to say he was involved but there was something not quite right about him.’

‘How do you mean?’

Harry breathed in deeply, scratching his head. ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t figure it out but he didn’t like being investigated.’

‘Do you think he was involved?’

‘Maybe, his only alibi was his wife but I couldn’t find anything specifically to say he was lying. Some people just stick in your head as not being right.’ Harry stabbed his index finger into his temple as if to emphasise the point.