Rob Harrison looked drained. His dark hair was dishevelled and messy and his face looked old and worn. The dark stubble of a day or two’s growth highlighted the paleness of his skin, and his eyes were the red of a drunk who’d spent too many nights looking for the answers to all his problems at the bottom of a whisky bottle. He sat on the foot of the bed in the Travel Lodge at ten-thirty AM that Monday morning still dressed in the grey joggers and matching T-shirt that he’d been given when they’d seized his clothing at the police station. Those red eyes looked questioningly at Mike, Tara and Scotty. They were the eyes of a man who’d endured all he could. In less than thirty-six hours he’d gone from being on a relaxing family holiday to losing his son and daughter, and now, following her ste
