Two hours later, Anna sat in Beth Farlow’s kitchen with her team, viewing CCTV footage from the railway station in Severn Beach on a laptop Holder had brought. They watched a bearded man wrapped in too many coats with a beanie hat pulled tight on his head, walking through the ticket barrier alone. It looked like he was the sort of individual other people would not want to be too close to.

Dawes sat next to her. ‘That’s him we reckon,’ he said. ‘We sent a copy to Dyfed-Powys Police and they sent one of their lot out to the local shopkeeper in Wales we’d spoken to. She said it’s what Norcott looked like the last time she saw him.’

‘When is this footage from?’ Anna asked.

‘Two weeks ago. But we’ve found some from a month ago as well. We think we may have picked him up on a walkway going the other way towards Gordano.’

‘Means he’s been here a while,’ Holder said.

Anna squeezed her eyes shut. Holder was stating the obvious and for half a second, she felt like screaming. But she recognised that feeling for what it was. The frustration of not having seen something in a case, not having prevented it from happening, was sometimes overwhelming. It made no sense to feel guilty about it, but since when did sense have any place in investigating crime? Especially crimes involving perpetrators who were off the scale in terms of their mental well-being.

A bit like you, then, Anna.

The thought, sly and unwelcome, arrived in her mother’s voice. She trod on it and stood up, walked to the window. Outside, in the yard and the garden, CSI were doing a search under rigged lights. Although she couldn’t see them, across the lane, ten uniformed officers were also searching along the road for evidence. Above she could hear the clatter of helicopter blades, waxing and waning. But it was dark and windy and pretty hopeless on the ground given the thickness of the undergrowth. They were all hoping the chopper might pick up Norcott or Farlow’s heat signature in the woodland, but there’d been nothing and she knew they’d have to call things off soon. The flight commander had warned her they had enough fuel for about ten more minutes. That was fifteen minutes ago. They were still up there, reluctant, she supposed, to give it up. But even as she stood there staring out, she heard the engine noise get louder and then begin to fade as the helicopter departed.

The space left by the sound was quickly filled by the moaning wind.

Holder’s phone rang. He walked into the corridor to take the call and came back two minutes later. ‘That was the search coordinator, ma’am. They’ve found King’s car at the end of Shaft Road.’

‘How far away?’

‘Half a mile.’

‘Right. Let’s go—’

Holder stopped her. ‘There’s nothing there, ma’am. The doors have been left wide open, as well as the boot. No sign of anyone. Looks like it’s been abandoned. They’re getting a Forensics team down there now, but conditions are really bad.’

Anna opened the back door and stepped around the corner of the cottage to peer into the road. The uniformed officers, all wrapped up against the weather, were walking back to their vehicles. She wanted to shout at them, tell them to keep at it. Car headlights lit up the narrow lane, showing the open land opposite as a dense, black, unlit void.

Dawes joined her, shouting to be heard above the whipping wind.

‘Not much else they can do tonight, ma’am.’

‘I’ve got a torch in the car,’ Anna said.

‘Ma’am, that’s just asking for trouble. Night-time searches only work with air support, we both know that. You’d be lost in there within five minutes. I’ve spoken to the POLSA. He’s promised to get things moving at first light.’

She’d already decided on the search parameters with the team. Between the cottage and the M4 Second Severn Crossing arching out over the river sprawled the patch of woodland and scrub, bisected to the east by the M49 feeder road between the M5 and M4.

Having the car found abandoned half a mile away simply reinforced the need to search the area. It was not a large patch but singularly wild and not often visited because of its proximity to the motorways. There were much nicer areas in which to walk where the constant roar and buzz of traffic did not accost your ears. But it also meant a quiet and undisturbed hiding place. Dawes was right. Things would be much easier in daylight. But at 10 a.m. there was a high tide and the forecast wasn’t good, with a red alert out for local flooding.

Frustration gnawed at Anna. Dawes put his hand on her arm and motioned her back inside, shutting the door after him.

‘I know it sounds useless,’ Dawes said, ‘but I suggest the best thing we can do now is all go home and get some rest.’

No one stood.

‘Come on, I know she’s out there somewhere but sitting here is doing no good at all.’

Anna looked at Dawes as if he’d suddenly grown horns. But he was right. If the POLSA knew she was contemplating venturing out herself, he’d have her up on a disciplinary charge. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let’s pick it up first thing. Briefing at eight at HQ. We’ll all be better after some sleep.’

She registered some nods of agreement, but she wondered if, like her, it was tinged with guilt. They were all going home to warm beds. That was a luxury Beth Farlow would not have. Might never have again. That realisation did not bode well for a good night’s rest.