Freeborn rushed over to Kate as she stepped back into the incident room. ‘Hot off the press, the IP address—’

‘What is it?’

‘Hold on, sorry, their written English isn’t great. Uh, it seems they managed to trace the IP address to a server in a building on the outskirts of Amsterdam… inside the building they found multiple servers… building owned by a company specialising… oh… they don’t think the profile was accessed in Amsterdam.’

Kate frowned. ‘What? I don’t follow, what are you saying?’

Freeborn lowered his phone. ‘Okay, um, listen, so when surfing online every internet-capable device, be it laptop, phone, tablet, or whatever has an IP address – basically a code that identifies the network you’re linked to and the device being used. Think of it as a return address so that every time you go online you leave a trail of breadcrumbs back to your activity. Now, in this day and age where everyone is so privacy-obsessed and individuals want to mask that trail of breadcrumbs or return address, it’s possible to get hold of software that will alter your IP address to make it seem like you are somewhere totally different. There are loads of companies offering this service at a cost, but it’s pretty easy to set it up. According to the Dutch police, the building they visited was a base unit for one of these companies, allowing the user to pretend they were in Amsterdam when Daisy’s profile was accessed.’

Kate was struggling to keep up, technology not her strong suit. ‘So, whoever liked Hannah’s photo—’

‘Probably wasn’t in Amsterdam, ma’am.’

‘So, where were they?’

‘They can’t say for certain. We’ll need a warrant to get the user’s true IP address from the company, but the company isn’t based in the UK or the Netherlands, so we’re going to need to track their actual address and apply for an international warrant to access that information. It’s not going to be easy, ma’am. This is why so many of these internet pirate download sites manage to evade prosecution.’

‘So, it’s possible that Daisy’s profile was accessed from the UK all along?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Kate sighed. ‘Would Daisy know how to use this masking software to hide her actual location?’

Freeborn sighed. ‘Maybe, I’ll speak to her teachers and find out how IT-literate she is. If she knew how to use it, it would make sense that she would like the post so her friends knew she was safe, knowing that her true location wouldn’t be discovered. But it’s a big if.’

---

‘This must be the place,’ Laura commented, as Kate opened the wooden gate, weathered and chipped by time and the elements.

Kate double-checked the address Hendrix had given her. ‘Yeah, this is it.’

‘Do you think the foot belongs to Maria?’

‘We’ll know soon enough,’ Kate said, pressing the doorbell.

The frail old lady with a purple-rinse perm, beige cardigan and checked skirt who opened the door was a far cry from what Kate had anticipated.

‘Yes, dear,’ the old woman said, squinting behind jam-jar-thick glasses.

Kate passed her identification to the woman who studied it, practically touching it to the lenses. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Kate Matthews,’ she added, speaking slowly and sounding out every vowel, ‘and this is my colleague Detective Constable Laura Trotter. May we come in?’

The woman smiled broadly, handing the identification back. ‘Please do, would you like a cup of tea?’

‘That would be lovely, thank you.’ Kate replied, knowing they didn’t have much time.

The old woman showed them to a small living room, where a halogen heater glowed orange in the corner. Kate and Laura both removed their jackets and opted for the sofa furthest from the heater. The old woman reappeared a few moments later, the tea cups and saucers rattling as she struggled to carry the tray through. Kate quickly stood and offered to take the tray, placing it on a coffee table closest to the woman, and handing out the cups.

‘Lovely cup of tea,’ Kate offered, kindly.

The woman nodded graciously, her hand trembling as she placed the cup to her lips. ‘How can I help you?’

‘We were told you have a lodger living with you? A young woman called Maria?’

‘Oh, not any more, dear, I’m afraid.’

Kate glanced nervously at Laura. ‘But you did have someone called Maria living with you?’

‘Yes, she was a lovely wee girl, but unfortunately not very good at paying her rent on time. I had to let her go.’

‘Did she leave a forwarding address?’

The woman frowned with disappointment. ‘No, I’m afraid not, dear.’

‘When was the last time you saw Maria, Mrs Owen?’

The old woman paused, thinking back. ‘Must have been two weeks ago. She was already a month in arrears, and it was the day she was due to pay February’s rent, and she said she didn’t have it. I hate to say we got into a bit of a disagreement, and she left, promising she would find the money and come back, but she never did. My son wasn’t happy. He’s been saying for months that she was taking advantage of me, but it was nice to have some company around this old place. It’s not like I needed the rent money, but my son insisted.’

‘Would you mind if we take a look around her room; maybe she left some clue where she’d moved on to?’

A look of guilt spread across Mrs Owen’s face. ‘Ah, I wish you’d come around sooner. My son was here on Friday and bagged up the few things she’d left in the room – mainly clothes and makeup – and took it to the dump. He said if she hadn’t returned to pay what she owed, I was better off dumping her stuff so the room was clean of her. I want to rent it out again, but he doesn’t think I should.’ She scowled. ‘He’s started mentioning retirement homes, but I’m not going anywhere.’

Kate thought about her own mother in a care home in Romsey, and made a mental note to visit her as soon as they’d found Daisy.

‘Do you know if your son took the bags straight to the dump? He didn’t leave them in your bin outside?’

‘He was already planning to take some of his own stuff to the dump, so I assume he went straight there. I can phone and ask if you’d like?’

‘Thank you,’ Kate said, standing. ‘While you’re doing that, would you mind if I used your bathroom?’

‘Of course, dear. It’s upstairs, first door on your left. You can’t miss it.’

Kate thanked her again, signalling for Laura to keep Mrs Owen busy while she had a snoop in what had been Maria’s bedroom. As Kate reached the top of the staircase, she realised what Mrs Owen had meant about not missing the bathroom. The overpowering scent of potpourri was enough to make your eyes water.

Closing the bathroom door loudly, Kate tiptoed along the hallway, ignoring the first room, the biggest, which had a single bed and its own unique odour, and pushed open the door to the remaining room. It was brighter than the first, the curtains wide open and no net curtain to block out the sky at the front of the house.

All that remained was a single bed, a chest of drawers unit and a rickety-looking flat-pack wardrobe. Kate carefully opened each of the four drawers in the unit, but all were empty. Moving across to the wardrobe, the door squeaked as she opened it, but save for half a dozen wire coat hangers, it too was bare.

Allowing her eyes to scan the room one final time, she noticed something poking out just behind the bedroom door. Stepping across and pushing the door to, she saw the wastepaper basket, still containing a translucent plastic carrier bag. Bending closer, Kate could see something in the bottom of the bag. Lifting the bin and resting it on the mattress, she nudged the coloured items with a pen, realising they were nail clippings. Mrs Owen didn’t seem the type to paint her nails. Tying the ends of the plastic bag, and squeezing out what air she could, she carefully placed the sealed bag into her jacket pocket.

Moving quickly down the stairs, Kate nodded for Laura to finish her drink. ‘We’d best be on our way, Mrs Owen. Thank you for your time this morning.’

Mrs Owen pushed herself up unsteadily, disappointment in her voice. ‘Do you really need to go so soon?’

‘I’m afraid so, criminals won’t arrest themselves.’ Kate would have spent the rest of the day keeping Mrs Owen company if she could, but in truth she needed to get back to SSD. ‘Thank you for your generosity, but we really do have to be on our way.’

Mrs Owen showed them to the door, and once outside, Kate passed Laura the bag. ‘Possible nail clippings from Maria Alexandrou. Can you get these to SSD immediately?’

Laura nodded, seeing Kate staring at a woman across the street. ‘You know her?’ Laura asked as the Latino woman stared daggers at them.

Kate took in the woman’s appearance: spotless makeup, figure-hugging skirt and jacket, designer handbag draped around her shoulder. ‘No,’ Kate said, as the woman suddenly upped her pace and headed towards the bottom of the road. ‘But she clearly knows who we are.’ Without a second’s thought, Kate raced through the weathered gate in pursuit.