Beth was running the names of the evacuees from Rossall School through the registry of births, deaths and marriages and adding their names to her lists of those who were still alive or were deceased. The names of those who were still alive went onto a spreadsheet she was compiling. It included their addresses and, where known, contact numbers.

She also ran the names of the living through the PNC – Police National Computer – to see if any of the children who’d been evacuated from the private school had grown up to live a life of crime. Even with Arthuret Hall’s history of ownership by someone with alleged gangland connections, it was a stretch to imagine that the offspring of some gangster or other had been sent to Rossall prior to being indoctrinated into the family business.

While it might be too simplistic or coincidental, it was something she hoped would prove to be true. That way they’d hopefully be able to solve the case before anyone else was hurt. It would also mean that she’d be the one to bring forth the connection which solved the case, even if it wasn’t her idea.

Her spreadsheet was also arranged by proximity so those who’d remained or returned to the area were at the top of the list. While her notes were filling up, she realised almost none of them were still in the local area. Most of the names had moved south towards London as the lure of the capital and its promised riches for the well-educated had proven irresistible. Their addresses ringed London like a halo of respectability.

She rose to stretch her limbs and made the universal gesture at Unthank to see if he wanted a cup of tea. He stuck his thumb up and let a smile cover his weary face as he held his phone to his ear.

To Beth, Unthank was one of the good guys. His descriptions of people never failed to amuse her. He could sum up people with a deft turn of phrase which encapsulated their looks or personality in a way she could only dream of.

Her smile faltered as she wondered, not for the first time, how he’d describe her. A shake of the head dislodged the dark thoughts that his description of her would centre around her scarred cheek. This was information she didn’t need to know, as possession of it would do nothing but harm. Her confidence might not be fragile, but neither was it cast iron.

As she made her way back with their drinks, some of her tea slopped over the rim of her mug and onto her hand. She managed to bite down on the swear word that leapt to her lips before it came out. It wouldn’t do for the person Unthank was calling to hear it. While she’d had full cooperation from the people she’d spoken to at Rossall School, Unthank was getting the runaround from a series of bureaucrats.

Beth placed a mug next to Unthank’s elbow and nodded at his smiled thanks. As he was a DC, the same as she was, she’d tried chatting to him, but while he’d always been polite, he’d not mentioned anything personal other than his fiancée, Lana. He didn’t even say if they’d been to the pictures, or for a meal or anything like that.

A part of Beth couldn’t help but wonder if Lana even existed. Unlike Thompson, there was no photo frame on his desk and he’d never shown her a picture of the two of them on his phone. It might just be that he was very private, or it might be that he was hiding something. Either way, she supposed she’d find out in due course.