‘Not a happy bunny, is she?’

Brickall jerked his head in the direction of Lisa Urquhart, who was scowling fiercely in their direction, arms across her ample chest. If her sister embodied passive aggression, then Lisa was just plain aggression.

‘I don’t get why you need to do this,’ she snarled as a team of forensics officers went through the house, examining the contents of drawers, peering under furniture, climbing up into the roof space, with one of their number snapping photos of everything. ‘It’s not like Lola Jade would be here. That’s ridiculous.’ Michelle herself was at work, apparently, but her lapdog Diva made her presence felt with a volley of yapping.

Lisa had a husband, Kevin, and two children, Chelsea and Connor, who had been temporarily moved into a shared room so that Michelle could use the third bedroom. Rachel waited until the forensics team had finished before snapping on latex gloves and going in there herself. The single bed had a Disney cover on it, and looked recently slept in; the child’s dressing table was strewn with make-up and hair products and what looked like a dead tabby cat but turned out to be a nest of stripy blonde and brown hair extensions. The wardrobe contained some of Michelle’s clothes and shoes, neatly arranged, and there were several skimpy lace thongs in a drawer that would have been far too small for Lisa.

‘So what do we think?’ asked Brickall, as the search was concluded and the forensic team stripped off their paper suits. Diva the dog darted forwards and nipped him on the ankle. He aimed a kick in its direction. ‘Fuck off, you little rodent!’

‘Well, we’ll have to see what the DNA samples show up, but my gut’s telling me Lola definitely hasn’t been here recently.’

‘Did we look at the husband?’ Brickall asked.

‘You mean Kevin Urquhart? Couple of minor disorder offences, brawling in a pub, that kind of thing.’

‘Our favourite.’

‘Nothing to suggest he’d be involved in snatching his own niece, but it might be worth talking to neighbours or colleagues in case.’

Rachel turned back and looked at the Urquharts’ house. ‘I don’t know. There’s something… a bell going off in the depths of my brain, but I can’t think what it is.’

‘It’ll come to you, Prince: it always does.’ Brickall unlocked the car. ‘So who’s next on the hit list? Gavin Harper again? Is he remanded?’

Rachel climbed into the driver’s seat, wedging her right leg awkwardly into the footwell. It still hurt intermittently, but she was learning to ignore the pain. To distract herself, she looked at her phone. ‘Not any more he’s not.’ She looked up at Brickall. ‘There’s a message here from Surrey Police saying that after his lawyer provided a prepared statement, they charged him with the passport fraud and bailed him. I don’t think we’re going to get anything else out of him by questioning him, but let’s keep a check on his movements, and talk to people who might be able to tell us more. Which means you’re going to find out what you can about his cousin, Tony Ingram, and I’m going to go and talk to his divorce lawyer.’

---

Howard had coaxed Rachel into practising her dead hang again, and while she was suspended in space, he was taking a long hard look at her body. His scrutiny made her feel self-conscious, but the warmth in her cheeks was fortunately disguised by her general sweatiness.

‘Your knee looks a bit better,’ he observed when she eventually relinquished her grip. ‘Less swollen.’

‘I think it’s improved a bit,’ Rachel agreed. ‘And before you say anything, I have been very moderate with the drugs. I’m only taking them when I’m desperate.’

Howard grinned. ‘Glad to hear it.’

He had such a nice smile, Rachel thought. And she was starting to look forward to him smiling at her, and experiencing a little flip at the base of her stomach when he did. A telltale sign.

But he was married, and she had sworn off married men. Off men in general. It was a couple of years since she’d dated anyone semi-seriously – a solicitor called Simon – and even longer since she’d dated anyone seriously, although there had been a smattering of one-, two- and even three-night stands. Nobody who had held her interest for longer than that. But with Howard there was definitely interest. Curiosity even.

‘What does your wife do?’ she asked.

‘She’s a manager in a department store.’

‘And how long have you been married?’

‘Six years.’

‘Kids?’

He shook his head, sadly. ‘I want them, she doesn’t. Before we were married, she was all over the idea. She’d chosen the names and everything. Now she’s done a complete U-turn; says she can’t see how they’d fit into our lives.’

‘There’ll be time for her to change her mind, though?’

‘Maybe. She’s already thirty-six. We’ve been having rows about it, non-stop. That’s why we went to the pub: to try and talk properly, on neutral territory.’ He gave a rueful look. ‘Didn’t work, though. I still ended up spending the night in the spare room.’

Get out, Rachel wanted to tell him. You’re far too nice to be in a lousy marriage.

‘Have you got time for a drink?’ Howard said suddenly. ‘A couple of the swimming coaches are heading down to the pub in a bit.’

Rachel hesitated a fraction too long. ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘Thanks, but I’d better get going. I’ve got a couple of things I need to follow up on.’

She went home via the local wholefood store, picking up the makings of a salad and a bottle of organic Zinfandel. After she’d eaten, she took her glass of wine out onto her tiny balcony, enjoying the late-autumn dusk. The air was cool but ripe, much like the wine. She picked up her phone and composed a text.

Hi, Stuart.

What on earth should she say? What could she say, after seventeen years of silence and effectively ruining his life? A tendency towards conflict avoidance and emotional self-sufficiency were two of the many reasons she was still single. Well, technically married, but with a single lifestyle. But on this occasion, she accepted, she was just going to have to face up to her failings, conflict or not.

Sorry I didn’t take your calls. I’ve been busy at work.

She deleted the last five words and replaced them with: I’ll admit it, I was avoiding you.

After she had sent the text, she flicked through her Facebook account. Danielle Patten had posted a sweet picture of Nigel with their baby, Jack, on his lap. The little boy was clutching a blue plush rabbit. Rachel stared at the photo for a few seconds, the familiar bell ringing in her brain. Then she dialled Brickall, who picked up after two rings.

‘I’ve just thought of something, something about the Urquhart house that was bugging me.’

‘Go on.’

‘Did you notice—’

She was interrupted by a pinging on her phone as a text arrived. A glance confirmed it was from Stuart.

‘Sorry, Mark, got to go. We can talk about it in the morning.’

‘Rude!’ complained Brickall, hanging up.

Rachel sat sipping her wine and looking at Stuart’s text. His faintly pompous tone melted the years away, and she was once again the impressionable young WPC, fresh from Hendon Police College, working on her first murder case.

That much was obvious. Nevertheless, I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s important we talk. Soon.

She sighed, and typed a brief reply.

Tell me where and when.

---

The next morning, she tracked down Brickall in the NCA canteen. He was eating a fried breakfast, his favourite meal apart from pizza with hot sauce.

‘So what was that about last night? I was all psyched up for the big reveal.’ He shovelled mushrooms and sausages into his mouth with hedonistic abandon.

Rachel had the grace to look sheepish. ‘My husband.’

‘Demanding his conjugal rights, was he?’ Brickall winked as he squirted brown sauce over his fried eggs, then proceeded to puncture the yolks with his fork.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ snapped Rachel. ‘He thinks we should talk, and let’s face it, he’s probably right.’ She drank some of her mug of canteen coffee, wincing at the acrid taste. ‘Listen, what I was about to say was this: the early footage of the house in Willow Way shows a hideous big studio portrait of Lola on the living room wall, and her favourite Katy Bear teddy in her bedroom. Michelle then takes it to the press conference, uses it as a prop to demonstrate how devoted she is.’

‘So?’ Brickall slathered butter on some toast.

‘So when I visited her on my own, I checked, and neither of those items – those very important items – are still in 57 Willow Way. Michelle’s decamped to her sister’s in Jubilee Terrace, so you might expect her to take them with her. But they weren’t there yesterday during the search. Not in her room, not in the loft, not in the garage.’

Brickall thought about this for a moment. ‘Maybe she’s packed up some stuff and put it in storage. Or taken it to her mum’s place. Doesn’t want to be reminded.’

‘My brain says maybe.’ Rachel ventured another sip of the bitter coffee. ‘But my gut doesn’t necessarily agree.’

‘I’ve got something much juicier than that anyway.’ Brickall dipped the toast into the egg yolk, then swirled it through the brown sauce.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You know the cousin, Tony Ingram? The one who’s so devoted to little Lola Jade?’

Rachel could tell from his tone that he was excited, even though he appeared to be concentrating on his breakfast. ‘Go on.’

‘Old Tony’s on the sex offenders’ register. For molesting a little girl.’