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found something: an unidentified man, at the swings, with the Clark family. The man matched the description of “Mal” from what we could tell, but they were too far away to make out much detail, and eventually they headed towards the Tube. It was the only time that we caught all four of them on film.’
    ‘What about before the camera on the tenth floor packed up?’
    ‘You mean, was there any video of him with the family prior to February? No. Maybe that was because he and Gail only officially started dating in the March, or maybe it just meant he was clever enough to stay out of shot – at least until he made a mistake on 26 March, and we got him on film at the play park. Either way, it never made much difference. Even when we did get him, he was just a blur.’
    ‘So only one camera was working the night they were killed.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Did you get anything from it?’
    He was rubbing his fingers harder now, his muscles and tendons trying to find the cigarette that wasn’t there, even while his thoughts remained tethered to the case and its maze of dead ends. Eventually, he reached into his pocket and removed a lighter – placing it next to his coffee on the table – and then a packet of cigarettes. The movement pulled him from his daze, and he glanced at the file.
    ‘Healy?’
    ‘It was all just a load of shite,’ he said quietly.
    ‘What was?’
    ‘Everything. If the case had been a dog, you’d have put the fucking thing down. No motive, no DNA, vague witnesses, eleven thousand men with a name that might not even be relevant.’ He paused, shifting the cigarette packet around in front of him, opening and closing the lid. Eventually, he picked up the file and began to riffle through its pages again, flipping forward to another witness statement.
    When he found it, he returned the file to me.
    ‘What’s this?’ I said.
    ‘About the only thing worth a damn.’
    But I never got the chance to read it.

6
    A second later, my phone began buzzing again.
    It was Annabel for a second time. I glanced at Healy, then back to the phone. We were right in the middle of something, and I could see he expected me to let the call go to voicemail – but it was rare for Annabel to phone out of the blue, even rarer for her to press the issue like this. She was twenty-five, independent, completely self-sufficient, and because she worked with kids, in schools, in clubs, she was a big believer in routine and structure. If she was calling me, and she hadn’t mentioned that she would call me, something was up.
    ‘I’m going to have to take this,’ I said to him.
    He frowned. ‘Can’t it wait?’
    ‘It’s Annabel.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘So, I need to take it.’
    ‘Just phone her back when we’re done.’
    ‘I’m taking the call, Healy.’
    His eyes flicked between the file – open on the page he’d selected for me – to the phone in my hand. ‘This is bullshit,’ he whispered, but loud enough for me to hear, and then started to slide out of the booth, propping a cigarette between his lips. Without another word, he headed for the exit. Outside, snow was falling like clumps of wet paper, hard and fast; a man from the motel – hood on, zip up to his chin – was desperately trying to grit the car parkas wind ripped off the river. Healy emerged from the front, cigarette already lit, a pissed-off expression on his face.
    I pressed Answer.
    ‘Hey sweetheart.’
    ‘Hey,’ Annabel said quietly.
    ‘Are you okay?’
    ‘It’s Olivia.’
    I felt a moment of panic.
    Olivia was her nine-year-old sister. Annabel and I had only discovered the truth about our relationship fourteen months ago – and while, biologically, Olivia wasn’t mine, the minute Annabel entered my life, they both entered my life.
    ‘What about her? Is she okay?’
    ‘I’m in Torquay,’ she said, her words a little smudged. It was clear she’d been crying. ‘At the hospital. We’ve had loads of snow here, and she went out on the sledge with