A wall of window high up. The child watched the night close in, several times huffing against the glass to mist it up, pressing her hand into the condensation and watching the imprint slowly fade. The moon rose. Little lights, street lamps, appeared like early evening stars, sparks in the gathering darkness. Long chains of sodium lights on the motorway laced the suburban streets in the distance into geometric shapes. She watched it all, hypnotised by the pretty patterns of light. When a child like her own newly adopted daughter is abducted, WPC Jane Velalley shares the long cruel hours of...