Kate watched the hands tick by on the large clock on the wall at the back of the salon. Finn continued to flick through an out-of-date magazine, but Kate could tell he wasn’t reading.

They’d been waiting for nearly twenty minutes to speak to Jen Laithwaite, but the salon had been full when they’d arrived, and without an appointment they would have to wait for her to become available. The walls of the small back room were bright pink, which was starting to make Kate feel claustrophobic. She was about to step out for some fresh air when the curtain to the room swished open and Jen stepped through.

‘Sorry about that,’ she beamed with a full set of white teeth. She had to be a similar age to Kate, though the make-up plastered on her face could have been covering more wrinkles than it showed. Her skin glowed bronze, which Kate guessed was probably the result of the tanning machines the salon advertised in its front window. ‘You caught us in a rush. You’re here about Roxie?’

‘That’s right,’ Kate replied, as Finn closed the magazine he’d been leafing through. ‘We just wanted to ask you a couple of follow-up questions.’

She tutted. ‘Not caught the bastard yet then?’

‘I assure you we’re working on it.’ Kate pulled out her phone and loaded up the image of Brookes. ‘Do you recognise this individual? He suffers from a rare skin condition that makes his skin as white as chalk. He’s tall, but with a slight build.’

Jen squinted at the image, before shaking her head. ‘Christ! Now there’s a man in need of a bit of colour. But no, sorry I don’t recognise him. But then I suppose he probably wouldn’t visit this kind of place, would he?’

Kate held the phone in place. ‘You don’t remember seeing him hanging around nearby, or near the flat you rented with Roxie?’

‘I think I’d remember a face like that! Sorry.’

Kate tried to keep the frustration from her voice. ‘Can you remember anyone else hanging around that you thought twice about?’

‘I wish I did. It’s hard to remember that time now. I’ve moved on. Don’t get me wrong, I miss Roxie every day, but I’ve kind of accepted that she’s gone. It doesn’t matter whether you catch the bastard, she ain’t coming back. Sorry, I wish I could be more help.’

Kate was returning the phone to her pocket when it began to vibrate in her hand. She answered Laura’s call without a second’s thought. ‘Go ahead.’

‘I ran the plates through the DVLA. They were and are still registered to one Dominic Coleridge, who almost shares a birthday with Wallace Brookes.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that Brookes was born on 04-01-1969, and Coleridge was born 01-04-1969. Only, Coleridge does have a criminal history. Want to know more?’

The cogs were already turning in Kate’s mind, as she stepped outside the salon. ‘Tell me.’

‘Coleridge was sentenced to three years in a Young Offenders Institute – well, I suppose it would have been a borstal back then – in 1983, aged just fourteen. He was out eighteen months later, but only free for two months before he was back inside, released the day before his eighteenth birthday.’

‘What was he inside for?’

‘First time, he was caught beating up a younger lad and the lad needed hospital care after the attack. It wasn’t his first offence, but he kept his nose clean inside. But shortly after his release he beat up his probation carer and the judge had no hesitation in sending him back. I’ve just emailed you a copy of the report, but I think you’ll find the picture of the younger Coleridge of interest.’

Kate lowered her phone and opened the app for her emails, before downloading the report. The young man with ghost-like skin and no hair on his head was unmistakeable. She put the phone on speaker so Finn could listen in. ‘Coleridge is Brookes. So, what, Brookes is an alias?’

‘That’s my guess,’ Laura agreed.

‘So that’s why we couldn’t find anything on him when we brought him in in 2015, because he was a figment of Coleridge’s imagination.’

‘It’s a shame you didn’t arrest him prior to interview as his fingerprints probably would have brought out his background.’

‘What else can you tell me about Coleridge?’

‘Not a lot. He had a sister, but she’s dead. As are both his parents. His mother died while giving birth to the sister, and his father passed away from alcohol poisoning shortly after Coleridge went inside the second time.’

‘What happened to the sister?’

‘Can’t find much on her. Presumably she went into care when the father died, as she was only eleven. I’ll see what else I can dig up on her.’

‘What’s the last known address for Coleridge?’

‘Would you be surprised if I told you it was St Jerome’s? The place he’s been donating money to for more than the last two years.’

Kate couldn’t piece together any of the new information, but her gut was screaming at her that she’d misjudged Brookes before. ‘Okay, Laura, thank you. Keep digging. See if you can find anything to directly link Coleridge to Willow Daniels, Roxie O’Brien and Steph Graham. We need to establish why he chose them. Was it random, or was there a more sinister reason? We also need to know where he is now. Finn and I called at his flat yesterday, but there was no answer. It could be that he was hiding, or he could have abandoned his home, and if that’s the case, we’ll need to try and find him. Presumably Coleridge has a bank account. See when it was last accessed and from where, as that might give us a clue where he is.’

Laura hung up the phone. Kate stepped back into the salon and nodded at Finn. ‘I think it’s almost time to go and speak to Armitage.’

‘Hold on a sec,’ said Jen, whose face was a mask of confusion. She disappeared behind the curtain, returning a moment later. She thrust an envelope towards Kate. ‘This arrived at the flat a fortnight after Roxie’s death. It was addressed to her mother, but Mrs O’Brien had passed away six weeks before Roxie, and her dad was already in a home. It was hand delivered, so I opened it. It made no sense to me, and I didn’t want to burden Mr O’Brien with it.’

Kate turned the envelope over in her hands. The name ‘Amanda O’Brien’ was scrawled on the envelope. Kate removed the glossy card from inside and opened it, seeing a message scrawled in the same handwriting:

Now you know how I felt. DC.

‘As I said,’ continued Jen, ‘I didn’t really know why it had been posted to us, or what it meant. Bit sinister, if you ask me. And I didn’t want to add to Mr O’Brien’s burden. Poor bastard. Alzheimer’s.’

Kate pocketed the card and envelope as the beginnings of a crazy idea started to jump around her mind. ‘Thank you for your time, Miss Laithwaite. Finn, we need to go.’

He stood and followed her through the curtain, and back out to the car. ‘You look like you’ve realised something, Kate. Is it time to see Armitage?’

She shook her head. ‘Nearly. I just need to check out one more thing first. I want you to drive me back to Watford.’