October 27th 1978

The incident room smells of men. The incident room smells of men with creased shirts. The incident room smells of men with creased shirts and creased faces. It’s been a long monotonous day and is far from finishing.
A squealing wheel heralds the arrival of the tea trolley. The missing girls watch the tea being poured from their photos pinned around a local map. Pippa hastily swallows her digestive.

“Is there a Petrol Station on the B28?”

“Yup. Texaco.”

“It’s a pattern... Look!”

She points around the map explaining her reasoning feeling like, perhaps, today some progress has been made.