‘He’s here, and he’s not here.’

‘What the fuck does that mean?’ Brickall demanded. He and Rachel were once again in the tiny hallway of Terry Harper’s house. ‘We’re not after riddles. We’re after facts. And your son, who’s given this as his bail address.’

‘Gav’s been staying with me, yes, but he’s hardly ever indoors. He’s spending most of his time with Andy.’

‘Is he working?’ Rachel was aware, as she asked the question, that she couldn’t remember what Gavin Harper did for a living, even though it had been mentioned on the original police file.

Terry filled in the gaps for her. ‘He’s getting a bit of plastering work – you know, he trained as a plasterer back in the day, before he set up his own building contractor’s outfit.’

‘That’ll explain how he managed to hire the big shiny divorce lawyer,’ said Brickall as they headed out to the car after checking the small single bedroom where Gavin was sleeping and ascertaining that the contents were much the same as in the apartment in Albufeira. ‘Plasterers make a bloody fortune.’

‘Except that he hasn’t paid the lawyer,’ Rachel reminded him. ‘Hence my theory about taking the law into his own hands.’

‘Another little chat with young Andy next, then.’ Brickall started the engine and drove back to JBH Distribution, parking at the side of the building. As he cut the ignition, Rachel made to open the passenger door, but he put a hand on her arm and restrained her.

‘Hold on, Tonto. Let’s try and use the element of surprise this time. We should see where he heads after he’s finished at work.’

‘Yes, probably.’ Rachel sat back. ‘The trouble is, we don’t know how long it’ll be before he leaves. He could be working a late shift.’ The prospect of being unable to bend her knee for several more hours did not appeal.

‘Come on, Prince, you know you love a good stakeout! Ninety-five per cent utter tedium; five per cent cardiac-arrest-causing stress. I’ll get supplies.’

‘No, I will,’ said Rachel firmly. ‘I need to stretch my leg.’

She trudged up to the parade of local shops and came back with Brickall’s five a day: crisps, biscuits, chocolate bars, sweets and cans of fizzy drinks. He was busy on his phone when she returned.

‘Just texting Amber.’

Rachel looked blank.

‘Amber Crowley, the hot barrister.’

‘How did you get her number?’

He tapped the side of his nose.

‘Please don’t tell me that was another abuse of your access to personal information… Anyway, didn’t she blow you out?’

‘I lifted her number from the Bogdhani case file. And no, she didn’t, not entirely. She said maybe coffee, remember? So I thought I’d give her a second crack at the goods. It would be a shame for her to miss out on this.’ He indicated his conventionally good-looking features. ‘Who wouldn’t want to experience a law-enforcing love god?’

Rachel was about to name some people for whom this might not be an enticing prospect when she was distracted by her phone bleeping. It was a text from Stuart.

Hi, Rae, I’m in London for a couple more days, and I’d still like the chance to talk properly before I leave. It would help us both to close this chapter, I think. I wondered if you’d like to meet up again. I have a couple of tickets for Covent Garden tonight. La Traviata. I have a box.

Rachel sighed. As if mentioning the cost of the seats would swing it.

Sorry, I’m on ops at the moment.

Well, it was true. But even if it hadn’t been, she would have come up with some excuse. She had blanked out the strange and abrupt ending of their marriage for so long that it seemed impossible to make things right by discussing it further. Especially in an opera box. She just wanted to sign the divorce papers and be done.

By the time Andy Whittier appeared with the rest of the early shift, Brickall had munched his way through the crisps, the chocolate and half the biscuits, and they were both starting to get restless. Andy walked out of the warehouse waving cheerily to a couple of colleagues who were leaving at the same time, and climbed into his car. But he didn’t drive off. He sat and waited.

An hour later, it was almost dark. Andy was still sitting motionless in his car.

‘What the fuck’s he doing?’ grumbled Brickall. ‘Why hasn’t he left?’

‘That’s kind of the point of surveillance: to find out.’

‘Sod this, I need a slash.’ He disappeared for ten minutes, and came back with a kebab and chips, which filled the car with the smell of fried onions.

By 7.45, the last of the late-shift workers were leaving, but Andy was still in his car. Gradually the car park emptied, and the lights in the building were extinguished one by one. A uniformed security guard arrived and positioned himself in a booth at the front of the building. At the exact moment Andy Whittier left the car, walked round to the back of the building and disappeared from view.

‘He’s gone back in again,’ observed Brickall, through a mouthful of Maltesers.

‘No shit, Sherlock… Oh, hold on.’ Rachel pointed as discreetly as possible. ‘Who’s this?’

A battered estate car drove up, and a familiar figure got out.

‘Bingo!’ she said with satisfaction. ‘It’s brother Gavin.’

Gavin also disappeared around the back of the building, out of sight of the security guard. Brickall hastily tossed the bag of chocolates onto the back seat with the congealed remains of the kebab, now fully alert. A few minutes later, the men came out together, with Gavin carrying something wrapped in a bright blue plastic tarpaulin. It was several feet in length, not heavy enough to need both men but bulky enough to slow his movements.

‘Oh Christ,’ breathed Brickall. ‘Surely not…’

Andy opened the hatchback on the estate and Gavin carefully laid the bundle down inside before climbing into the driver’s seat. Andy headed back to his own car.

‘My favourite,’ said Brickall, starting the engine and sliding skilfully and silently forwards. ‘Car chase.’

---

They followed the two cars at a discreet distance to a small, modern housing development not far from where Terry Harper lived. Both cars came to a stop outside a brick townhouse: Gavin’s car parked on the drive in front of the integral garage, Andy’s stopped at the kerb.

Rachel and Brickall watched as the package, which must have weighed fifty pounds or so from the way it was carried, was taken carefully in through the garage door. It was then closed, and both men remained inside.

‘Shit,’ said Brickall. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

Rachel nodded. ‘Are there vests in the car? Or tasers?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Didn’t think we’d need them.’

‘Well you should have thought about that,’ said Rachel tersely. ‘That’s your job.’

‘It’s going to be a call for backup, then,’ said Brickall, taking out his airwave handset. ‘We need an ARV. Look on the bright side: at least Gavin and Andy have no idea we’re here. That buys us some time.’

Twenty minutes later, a police support unit arrived in a van. Armed officers hammered on the front door, while others stood ready with their tubular steel Enforcer battering rams: ‘red keys’, the uniformed officers called them. A confused-looking young woman in an old T-shirt and pyjama bottoms opened the door, and members of the tactical unit swarmed past her, making their way to the garage.

Rachel held up her warrant card. ‘Are Andy Whittier and Gavin Harper here?’

‘They’re watching the football, but—’

Rachel and Brickall pushed past her into the living room. Both men were already on their feet, startled by the noise, and both recognised Rachel. ‘What’s going on?’ Gavin asked, the colour draining from his face. ‘Have you found her?’

‘We need to conduct a search of the premises,’ Brickall said, as two heavy-booted officers thundered upstairs to prove his point.

‘Hold on,’ said Andy. ‘My kids are asleep up there. They’ll be terrified.’

Rachel held up her hand, indicating to the officers upstairs that they should wait on the landing. ‘We need to have a look in your garage.’

Andy paled and exchanged a stricken look with Gavin.

Brickall had already gone through the connecting door in the utility room. Rachel followed, with the two brothers hovering in the doorway.

‘Here it is.’ Brickall pointed to a blue bundle against the far wall. He ripped the synthetic tarpaulin away, revealing a thick polythene bag containing what looked like small metal bricks.

‘What the fuck?’

Rachel knelt down and ripped at the polythene bag with the Swiss army knife she always carried, taking out one of the metal ingots and examining it.

‘It’s rhodium,’ said Andy, who was now standing behind her. ‘Corrosion-resistant, used in catalytic converters and spark plugs.’

‘And worth nearly a thousand quid an ounce,’ observed Rachel. ‘Mind telling us what you were doing removing this from your work premises and hiding it here?’

‘It’s my fault,’ said Gavin. ‘Andy knew I was up to my eyeballs in debt and needed to make some decent money in a hurry, so he thought we could sell it on, on the black market.’

‘You do remember you’re already on bail for a fraud offence? And being investigated over your daughter’s disappearance?’ Rachel’s tone was flat, the adrenaline leaching from her body.

Andy turned on her. ‘How the hell did you know about this?’ he demanded.

‘Followed you,’ Brickall said bluntly, taking a set of handcuffs from a member of the armed unit. ‘We thought you might be hiding Lola Jade.’ He cuffed Gavin’s wrists behind his back. ‘Gavin Harper, I am arresting you on suspicion of burglary, contrary to Section 25 of the Theft Act. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

‘I didn’t take Lola!’ Gavin shouted angrily. ‘I didn’t take her, and I don’t know who did! I thought you got that.’

Rachel cuffed Andy and cautioned him, and the two of them were loaded into the back of the armed response vehicle, along with the consignment of rhodium.

‘Take them to the nearest nick and have them booked and banged up. Make sure they know Harper’s already on bail,’ Brickall told the unit commander. ‘We’ll speak to the custody sergeant and their CID in the morning.

He thumped the back door of the van, giving the driver his cue to set off. ‘Well, that was fun,’ he said, with evident satisfaction. ‘Been a while since I’ve done a spot of smash-and-grab. Beats being stuck behind a desk all day.’

Rachel was shaking her head, reaching into her bag for a painkiller and washing it down with a can of Coke left over from the stakeout.

‘But Lola’s still missing. We’re back to the drawing board.’