About the Author

Born in Dublin, JENNY O’BRIEN moved to Wales and then Guernsey, where she tries to find time to both read and write in between working as a nurse and ferrying around three teenagers.

In her spare time she can be found frowning at her wonky cakes and even wonkier breads. You’ll be pleased to note she won’t be entering Bake Off. She’s also an all-year-round sea swimmer.

Readers LOVE Jenny O’Brien

‘Wow – this book had me on the edge of my seat! … I loved every minute of it’

‘LOVED IT’

‘I loved this book … A couple of times I thought I had it all solved, but I was SO wrong!’

‘I devoured it and wanted to read the next in the series immediately!’

‘Kept me reading into the small hours … An unexpected twist at the end’

‘Thrilling … Amazing book, I couldn’t put it down’

‘I absolutely loved this book … Jenny O’Brien is quickly becoming one of my favourites’

Also by Jenny O’Brien

The Stepsister

Silent Cry
JENNY O’BRIEN

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Jenny O’Brien

Previously published as Missing in Wales

Jenny O’Brien asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © April 2020 ISBN: 9780008390150

Version: 2020-05-14

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Readers LOVE Jenny O’Brien

Also by Jenny O’Brien

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

In memory of Jason Hopper

Prologue
Izzy

Five years ago

‘Be careful. It’s the first time you’ve been out with her by yourself.’

‘Give over nagging, Izzy. We’ll be fine, won’t we, gorgeous?’ Charlie said, bending on his haunches and gently running his finger down his daughter’s plump cheek, her dark blue eyes staring back at him. ‘We’re going to let your mammy have some rest while we go to the shops. It’s time we got better acquainted. I can tell you all about football and which team to support.’

‘You will not. Don’t listen, Alys. There’s only one football team worth supporting and it’s not his,’ Izzy teased, feeling redundant now that Charlie had stolen her attention.

This would be the first time she’d be apart from her since the birth and already she could feel the bonds of motherhood straining at the thought of Alys being out of her sight, even if it was only for half an hour. It had only taken a week for her world to shrink to the boundary walls of the house. But she’d never been happier. Her eyes grazed the pair of them, and love filled every corner. But Charlie and Alys needed this time, both of them and a few minutes alone after another interrupted night’s sleep would be like a gift from the gods. Izzy had never felt so bone-achingly weary and, while she dreaded being apart, a rest would make all the difference.

‘Now, what about a goodbye kiss from your pretty mam then?’ Charlie said.

Pushing himself to standing, the car seat in the crook of his arm, he leant in for a kiss reminiscent of the best Hollywood romances.

‘You daft thing,’ she laughed. But secretly she was pleased, more than pleased.

She watched as he reversed the Mini into the road and continued watching until they were out of sight before returning to the warmth of the house. She slipped off her shoes by the front door and, fumbling into her slippers. headed for the kitchen. There was washing and ironing, not to mention food to prepare. There were so many things she knew she should be doing but she felt sick with tiredness. With a mug of tea in her hand, she returned to the sofa and, feet propped up on the end, rested back, allowing the silence envelop her.

There was always noise in the cottage. It wasn’t Charlie’s fault that he was one of those men you could hear long before you could see them: Charlie, her one-night-stand, who seemed to have taken up root in both her house and her heart. He was always clomping around the place with a heavy tread and if it wasn’t him, it was one of his mates he’d invited back for her to feed. The house suddenly felt empty with the pervading sound of silence.

She’d close her eyes, just for five minutes … they’d be back soon.

The fire had died back to nothing, the embers just a pale glow in the grate. She turned her head towards the window, her hand instinctively pulling the woollen blanket around her shoulders, a shiver snaking its way across her spine. The last time she’d looked out, the sun had been streaming in through the pane but all that was visible now was the dense grey of twilight. The phone rang, slicing through her sudden fear. She struggled to sit, her neck stiff from the arm of the sofa. A million excuses chased through her mind.

They’ve been delayed, maybe had a puncture … or knowing Charlie, he’s run out of petrol.

Her hand lifted the receiver to her ear before gently replacing it. She’d learnt the best way to treat cold callers was by doing exactly that. No comment. No words. Nothing.

She pulled the throw tighter over her shoulders, her eyes now on the clock on the mantelpiece, her mind in a tangle.

Two hours? How the hell could she have slept for so long? This was quickly followed by the worst thought of all: He must have had an accident. Even now, he’s in some anonymous hospital bed and as for Alys …

Her stomach clenched when there was no need – she’d just ring his mobile. Reaching out a hand, she quickly tapped in his number.

The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.

She was scared now, really scared. He never left his phone switched off even if it was only to check on the football scores. They’d been gone hours. She had no idea where the hell he could have taken her. Alys would need a feed and a nappy change. There was nowhere he’d go, not with a newborn.

Izzy heaved a sigh at her foolishness and, for one long moment, relished the feel of wool against skin as she tried to laugh her fears off. She wasn’t his keeper. They’d got held up. Something had happened, something silly that she couldn’t guess at and, in a minute, she’d hear the creak of the gate and the turn of the key.

The moment passed. The minutes continued ticking and her sliver of calm disintegrated.

In a sudden burst of movement, she leapt from the chair and ran up the stairs.

That’s it. They came in earlier, hours earlier and even now they’re both curled up in their beds, not wanting to wake me.

But Alys’s cot was empty, apart from the pale-yellow blanket folded neatly over the end, just the way she’d left it that morning. Their bed was empty too, the duvet flung back any old how, the sheets cold, wrinkled, uninviting.

Outside. Maybe he pulled up and decided to close his eyes. Maybe it’s like the last time when he forgot his keys and, if Alys has fallen asleep in the car, he might have decided not to wake me.

She remembered the last time. His sheepish grin when she shook him back into the land of the living, which developed into their first big row and ended in a swift coupling against the back of the sofa.

There was post on the mat but she just stepped over it. She wasn’t in the mood for bills and flyers. She just needed to know that Alys was safe.

The air was cold, wiping the smile from her face. There was barely a glimmer of light as twilight switched to dusk. They were far enough away from everyone for darkness, when it hit, to mean exactly that. There wasn’t even a visible moon or any stars to light the way. She took a second to drag air into her lungs, the smell from the winter-flowering jasmine around the door filling her senses, but there was no joy to be had from the scent. Her eyes adjusted enough to see the outline of the gate and the telegraph pole next to it. There was no car, no indication that he’d returned. There was nothing apart from the empty track leading up to the house.

Izzy stayed a while. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong – something that she had no way of putting right.

She finally wandered back into the hall, the post in her hand, the throw trailing in her wake. She was cold down to the bone, but it wasn’t the type of cold that the warmth from wool was going to solve. Her hand stretched towards the phone for a third time, her arm brushing against her breasts, now heavy with milk. She hesitated, her gaze lingering on the mail and the postcard on top. Was she overreacting? Was this the paranoid response of a new mum? Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully.

The card was plain white and, with no name or address scrawled on the front, must have been hand delivered. She flipped it over and all thoughts of a simple explanation died along with any hope in her heart.

I’ve got Alys. Don’t try to find us, Charlie

Chapter 1
Izzy

Monday 23 December, 5.10 p.m. Swansea

It took one look, just one, for Izzy’s world to shatter a second time.

To anyone else it was only a flicker, a face in the crowd but to her it was a face so intrinsically linked to her past that she paused in her fur-lined boots, unable to do more than stare at the woman disappearing across the street. It was all there in the angle of her head, the sway of her hips, the colour of her jet-black hair. It had been five years and yet it still felt just like yesterday.

Grace. Grace Madden.

A wave of ice-cold worked its way across her shoulders and down her spine, pinning her to the spot. She couldn’t move even if her life depended on it. Instead, she watched, transfixed as Grace clambered into a waiting taxi before zooming into the distance. She was too late and yet what could she have done? Shout? Scream? Surely she could have done something instead of just standing there? The tears came in a sudden deluge. Tears for the opportunity she’d just lost.

‘Are you all right, love? All this Christmas cheer getting to you?’ The stranger’s soft Welsh accent was a welcome interruption.

Izzy wiped a hand over her cheeks before scooping up her bags.

‘I’m fine, just a little overcome,’ she said, jolted out of her reverie. She was standing outside Costa, her gaze still lingering on the spot where she’d last seen her. Stepping out of his way with a brief smile, she headed inside to buy a coffee she didn’t want simply because the tremors running up her legs made sitting an urgent necessity.

Costa was busy but she managed to secure a table right at the back and, pushing her coffee to one side, rested her head in her hands.

Was it even Grace? It certainly looked like her with her distinctive black hair sweeping her shoulders in sharp contrast to her pale face and razor cheekbones. But now, as the seconds ticked into minutes, she wasn’t so sure. Bottle black was such a popular look these days and it wasn’t as if she was that unique.

Squashing back tears, she reached for her cup with an unsteady hand and took tentative sips until the cup was drained. But still she sat, clenching it between her hands, trying to drag the strength up from somewhere to think about someone she hadn’t thought of in a very long time. Grace, the woman she’d thought her best friend. A great friend she’d turned out to be leaving town at a time when she’d needed her the most – the weekend Alys disappeared. She hadn’t even bothered to get in touch since. But now she was back.

Izzy frowned, trying to remember but suddenly the only thing she could think about was the glaring fact that Grace had chosen to leave the area at the same time Charlie had taken Alys. Now it seemed a little too convenient and, if she hadn’t been on fistfuls of tranquilisers at the time, surely, she’d have forced the police to investigate this aspect of the case further.

She didn’t know how long she sat, staring into the past. Time was irrelevant to someone like her. Time was irrelevant to someone who’d had the whole world in the palm of her hand only to lose it in an instant. She didn’t know what pulled her out of her fugue. A rattle of cups? The door being pushed? The happy family of two-plus-two at the next table making more noise than sense?

In a spurt of energy, she picked up her scarf and wrapped it loosely around her neck, a quick look at her watch confirming that she’d spent far too long thinking about the past. She couldn’t do happy families, not now. Now she had to leave, if only to catch the last train home. Spending the night in Swansea weighed down with shopping was the very last thing she wanted to face just before Christmas.

The local supermarket was packed, but it was always going to be at this time of the evening. Her mind was still buzzing with thoughts of Grace but she clamped them down under an iron lid. She would think about her but not now. Not here. Not yet. She’d get all her jobs out of the way before letting her creep back inside.

Head down, she avoided anyone and everyone. She wanted to buy what she needed before journeying home and slamming the door. Only then would she allow her thoughts to drift back into the past.

‘Hello Izzy, long time no see.’

She looked up into the face of DI Rhys Walker, brother of Rebecca, an old friend from her school days, and the lead detective in the search for Alys. St David’s wasn’t the largest place in the world and she was always bumping into people she knew but not in Rhys’s case. He was right when he said he hadn’t seen her around but that was only because she’d managed to avoid him by ducking into whichever bar, shop or restaurant she’d happened to be standing outside.

She’d dealt with Rhys. She’d spent what felt like a lifetime holed up in Swansea Police Station going over the case. It was just her luck that he’d decided to commute when he’d been promoted rather than move out of St David’s altogether. Every time she caught a glimpse of his burly frame around town, she had to shove her heart back down her throat with a thump. She’d had no choice but to deal with him then but now? Now she chose to avoid him and, if it hadn’t been for spotting Grace, she’d have managed to avoid him again.

It wasn’t that he was bad-looking, far from it. He wasn’t that tall, probably five-ten but his well-muscled, powerful build made up for what he lacked in height. His dark brown hair used to be collar-length before police regulations dictated the short crop he was currently sporting. All in all, he was your boy-next-door type. A boy she’d grown up with through the years, despite him being six years older. They’d gone to the same school. They’d frequented the same cinemas and social venues. But he was a copper, only that.

She hopped from one foot to the other, her gaze flicking from her trolley to his and back again before landing on his ringless left hand. The last time she’d spoken to him he’d been single. But, by the state of his trolley, nearly overflowing with Christmas cheer, there was now bound to be a bride and a bundle of babies to complete his happiness. Well, bully for him. However, instead of passing the time of day, all she wanted was to hide under her duvet and think about the implications of seeing Grace again because, despite her misgivings, she was now one hundred per cent sure it was her.

He wasn’t going anywhere. She could see it in the way his gaze drilled down through layers of skin, flesh and bone right to her heart, if indeed she still had that organ thumping inside her chest.

His hand fastened around the wire rim of her trolley before leaning in to inspect the contents. ‘Not having turkey and all the trimmings?’ he said, a frown replacing his smile.

Her gaze followed his and she saw what he saw: four rolls of wrapping paper nudged up beside two bottles of plonk and one of whiskey, all topped off with a ready meal and a tub of chocolate ice cream. It was a lonely basket for a lonely woman, and it was also none of his bloody business.

‘Yes, well. I’m not home for Christmas.’

‘No? Where are you off to then?’ His smile was back and she remembered again just what a nice bloke he was. ‘I hope it’s somewhere exciting?’

‘Hardly! Only to my parents. And you? Do you have an exciting time planned?’

‘Not really, although I do have Christmas off for a change.’

She held his gaze for a second before turning her attention back to the contents of his trolley and the large bag of Maris Pipers on top. Meeting him hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared and the questions far less intrusive. But that wasn’t surprising being as they were standing next to an old woman in a purple hat as she picked over the sprouts with a slow deliberation. She knew she should bat back a question about what he was up to with his full trolley. He certainly wasn’t the only solitary man wandering around with a bemused look on his face while they searched for the cranberry sauce, but he was the only one she didn’t want to get drawn into a conversation with. There was no way she was going to continue talking about turkey and the like. In truth, she didn’t give a damn where he was spending his Christmas or with whom. She didn’t give a damn whether he was planning to gorge himself silly on turkey or a plate of nut-roast with deep-fried falafel on the side. She just didn’t care.

They’d given up. They’d given up searching after the first few weeks, but it wasn’t something she’d ever be able to do. Charlie had stolen her child and then had the arrogance to post a card through her letterbox boasting what he’d done. What kind of man would be so cruel? Certainly not the kindly man hovering in front of her. She felt rejuvenated suddenly. Seeing Grace had rejuvenated her and changed something. Where before she’d been prepared to let it ride, now she couldn’t. For the first time in what felt like a very long time she was going to get off her behind and do something. The only question was what.

Her gaze shifted back to his face, an idea hovering. Should she tell him about seeing Grace in Swansea? Would he be interested after all this time? And finally, what good would it do? Before common sense interfered and stopped her, she leant forward, lowering her voice to a thin whisper.

‘Actually, I’m pleased I’ve bumped into you. There’s something I need to tell you.’

Chapter 2
Gaby

Tuesday 24 December, 11.50 a.m. Swansea Police Station

‘You wanted to see me, Guv?’

‘Ah, yes, DI Walker, come in and shut the door,’ DCI Brazil-North said, lifting a hand and waving it in the direction of the only spare chair.

Rhys threw a brief smile in Gaby’s direction before taking a seat and crossing his legs at the ankles.

So, this is my new boss. Not bad looking if you like square, rugby types … There are cogs there, many and complex – it would be foolish to underestimate him. Gaby frowned at the thought before returning her attention back to the woman behind the desk.

The DCI placed her pen down before lifting her head, her face an expressionless mask. ‘I know it’s Christmas Eve but I’ve asked DC Darin to drop in so I can introduce you. She’ll be joining us from the Cardiff office in a couple of days and, with her arrival, I think a little reshuffle is in order. After the sterling effort you made inducting DC Abraham, I’ve decided to reward you with a new partner.’ She leant forward, her elbows on the desk, her eyes flint. ‘I don’t want to hear a murmur of negativity towards our latest officer and I will hold you personally responsible if I do.’ Her smile widened briefly to include Gaby. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy with us, DC Darin. The DI will keep a close eye and ensure you receive a warm welcome from all members of the team.

Leaning back in her chair, she picked up her pen, again focusing on the document in front of her.

‘Ma’am, if I could have a brief word in private?’

There was an awkward silence where Gaby took to examining her nails, her attention now on the man at her side and what he was about to say. Surely he wouldn’t refuse to mentor her? But after what had happened in Cardiff, she wouldn’t put anything past her esteemed fellow colleagues. At least in the beginning they’d been welcoming. It was only later when they realised she wouldn’t be party to a cover-up that they’d turned nasty. It had taken strength of character and a bucketload of chocolate for her to deflect the bullet they’d carved with her name, rank and number. The strength of character remained. Gaby sat and waited, the silence lengthening, her clear nail polish not bright enough to hold her gaze for more than about five seconds.

‘An officer of your experience should know that there are no secrets between partners. Say your piece. I’m sure DC Darin will keep your confidence,’ DCI Brazil-North finally replied, still staring down at the document in front of her.

‘It’s about the Baby Grant case, ma’am.’

‘Oh God, really?’ She placed her pen down carefully before raising her head. ‘This had better be good, Walker. The force spent millions the first time round scouring the globe and they didn’t come up with anything other than censure from the public and politicians alike. You know as well as I do that the possibility of her still being alive is non-existent?’

‘That’s as may be, ma’am. But I bumped into the mother in the supermarket yesterday – she’s adamant she’s in possession of new evidence that will make a huge difference to the case.’

‘I’d forgotten that you still live in St David’s – a hell of a trek to work and back.’

‘But great to get away from it all.’

‘Mmm. So, what new evidence?’

‘Grace Madden seems to have appeared back on the scene. Miss Grant’s convinced of it. It was actually quite sad seeing her like that with her meal for one,’ he said with a little shake of his head. ‘She can’t move on with her life until she gets some news, one way or the other. You might remember that both the baby and boyfriend disappeared around the same time as the friend – it was all highly suspicious.’

‘I know all that.’ Her tone was as glacial as her look. ‘I also know to the pound just how much it cost the branch in terms of man hours searching for Madden and the boyfriend. So, she’s turned up, has she?’ She picked up her pen and scribbled something in the margin of her notebook.

‘Well, not quite but the mother seems to think that she spotted her yesterday.’

‘I don’t need to hear any more, Rhys. There’s not a lot we can do until after all the festivities are over. When you get back tell the team to have a sniff around but don’t spend long on it and be discreet. The very last thing we want is to alert the media. It was like a circus last time.’

Chapter 3
Izzy

Wednesday 25 December, 2.27 p.m. St David’s

Izzy’s parents had prepared enough food to feed an army and not the five adults and two children present. In the old days she would have been more than happy to clear her plate but that was before food had toppled off her list of things that were important. Now, a tightening waistband meant she placed her knife and fork neatly in the centre of her plate before finishing her meal. Her sister and brother-in-law, Bethan and Oscar, were still grazing and, with every additional sausage wrapped in bacon and extra spud, they were each getting a nod of approval but she couldn’t change back into the girl she once was no matter how much her mother wished it.

She pushed her chair back, unable to stand it any longer, her mind on Grace and the glimpse she’d caught of her darting out of the Royal Arcade and into the waiting taxi along St Mary’s Street. All she wanted was some peace to think it through but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Her eyes flicked between Mam, Dad and the kids. ‘Anyone for coffee or is it tea all round, as usual?’ she said, trying to push the day forward. There was still pudding to get through: brandy custard to accompany the Christmas pudding for the adults and gooey chocolate cake for the boys.

She headed into the kitchen and filled the kettle before starting on the saucepans, her gaze drawn to the window and the view out across St David’s Head and the sea beyond. While she loved her family, these long, drawn out parties were always a chore and this one seemed more of a chore than usual. She hadn’t slept a wink since returning from Swansea and five minutes alone, even if it meant starting on the pile of washing up, was all she needed. But, with the sound of the door opening behind her, she wasn’t even going to be allowed that.

‘Where did you go to make that tea then? China?’ Bethan said, placing a pile of crockery on the table before starting to scrape plates into the food waste bin.

‘It’s just coming. You know Mam likes it strong enough to strip the hairs off Dad’s chest.’ Izzy caught her sister’s eye, trying and failing to dampen down the fit of giggles at the thought of their dad, who had only a few strands of grey left on his scalp, let alone on his chest.

Bethan lifted a clean tea towel from the hook to the left of the sink and started to dry a glass. ‘So, how are you really doing, sis?’

‘Oh, the usual. You know.’

‘No, I don’t know, not really! I don’t know how you manage to get out of bed in the morning or even sleep at night. If something like that had happened to either Gareth or Dylan, I think I’d have—’ She stopped suddenly, her cheeks pale, confusion and embarrassment stamped across her face in equal measures.

Izzy stared at her for a moment, memories of the time she most wanted to forget tumbling across her mind: the suicide attempt. It took her almost a year to shake off both the depression and the psychiatrists, not to mention the constant attention from her parents checking to see if she was all right. But the truth, a truth she’d never admitted to anyone, was that swallowing those sleeping tablets was only a half-hearted attempt. It was just a cry for help. Did they honestly think she wouldn’t have done it if she’d really meant to? Did they think she’d have picked up the phone when they’d made their nightly call if she hadn’t wanted to be saved? Dying would have been an easy but unfulfilling outcome. She still needed to know what had happened to her daughter.

‘Come on. If you carry on you’ll have us both in tears,’ she said, managing a small smile. ‘Let’s leave Oscar and the parents to fend for themselves for a while. It’s James Bond on the TV and I must have seen it a million times already. What we need is a romp on the beach with the dogs. The kids are going square-eyed in front of their iPads. You’re going to rue the day you ever agreed to buy them.’

Porthclais beach was one of their favourite haunts as youngsters. It was low tide and the dogs raced through puddles with their tongues out and tails wagging. They’d even brought a football and, with the boys happily playing an impromptu game, Izzy and Bethan sat on the end of the harbour wall, watching the antics unfold when the dogs finally discovered there was a ball game underway and no one had invited them to play.

Gazing at the boys, they started a rambling conversation about how Mam and Dad were faring now that the chip shop was a distant memory.

‘They still worry about you, you know. It’s all very well spending all your time working,’ said Bethan.

‘I don’t view spinning wool as really working and, as for knitting – it’s how I relax.’

‘You know what I mean. Setting up your own cottage industry is admirable, and we couldn’t be prouder of the way you’ve managed to create a niche for your handmade knits. But you can’t blame Mam and Dad for wanting to see you settled with a man at your side and perhaps another—’

Izzy grabbed her hand, stemming her flow of words. Her sister meant well. They all meant well. But she didn’t want another child. Children weren’t like cars that could be traded in for a newer model. There was nothing wrong with Alys. She was the most perfect baby in the world and all Izzy wanted was for her to be back where she belonged. She couldn’t give a toss about what happened to Charlie. Over the years she’d come to realise that even when he was at his most romantic, there’d always been a barrier when he’d tried to inveigle his way into her heart. The bullies had done a great job of fine-tuning her lack of self-confidence. Their taunts had made it impossible for her to believe that a good-looking bloke like Charlie could just suddenly drop at her feet. It was only after Alys’s disappearance that she realised just how right she’d been.

‘Shush, Bethan. You know that’s not going to happen.’ She managed a laugh. ‘I’m far too busy with the business to be worried about another man and anyway, one Charlie in my life is more than enough, thank you very much.’

‘But what about—’

‘I’m not missing out,’ she said firmly. ‘I have you batting for me and the most amazing pair of nephews.’ Her eyes were now on the football tug-of-war between Gareth and Arthur, the older of the two dogs.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot. I bumped into Rebecca last week.’

‘Really?’ Izzy managed to suppress a groan, knowing only too well that any comment made about her best friend would lead straight to Rhys. Bethan just wouldn’t let it rest.

‘She was with her brother. He asked after you, by the way. I always knew he had a soft spot for you and this just proves it.’

‘Really?’ she repeated, squashing her temper back down where it belonged. She wasn’t interested in Rhys like that and, after all that had happened, he was the very last man she’d look at. But how did she go about telling her well-meaning sister?

She looked up from where she’d been staring at her boots and caught the beam on her sister’s face. ‘What?’

‘You and Rhys Walker. I remember the way you used to look at him when he was a bobby round St David’s. And the way he used to return that look, come to that.’

‘That was a very long time ago. I’ll admit I used to think he was cute in that uniform but he’s with someone now and anyway, even if he wasn’t, I’m not interested.’

Bethan pulled a frown. ‘Rebecca never mentioned it and he certainly didn’t look married.’

‘Ha, why do you automatically assume that he’s married and, even if he was, it’s not as if he’s going to wear a do not touch label; not all men wear wedding rings.’

‘Oh, you know what I mean. I always hoped you’d get together.’

‘You’re as bad as Mam. I don’t need a man in my life and, if I did, it wouldn’t be someone like him. He really is the eponymous Mr Boring.’ She stood and whistled for the dogs. ‘Come on, let’s get the boys home. I hope you’ve worked up an appetite for supper.’

‘Do you have to go back so early? I thought we’d get to spend most of the day together,’ Mam said with a scowl. ‘And what your dad and I are going to do with all this turkey, I don’t know.’

‘I’m sorry. But I still have a couple of orders to finish in time for New Year’s Eve and I’m behind as it is. And there’s Bucket to consider too,’ she said, slinging her bag across her shoulder. ‘The neighbours are very good but you know what he’s like around strangers. What about I come round during the week for one of your “Turkish curries”? But no chips on the side like last time, mind.’

Izzy placed her pile of presents in the boot before turning and enveloping her parents in deep hugs. The van, a vintage VW camper complete with flower motifs, was a recent but necessary addition. The Mini disappeared on the same morning as Charlie and Alys and, just like them, it had never turned up, despite a lengthy search. She had great hopes that one day it would appear in the small ads but there hadn’t been even one reported sighting since that fateful morning when he’d backed out of the driveway.

The house felt cold and unloved after a night away. She glanced at the wood-burner and the pile of logs stacked in the corner, but she was far too wound up to even strike a match. Instead, she left her coat on and wandered into the kitchen to flick on the kettle. There was no sign of her snow-white moggy, Bucket. But staying out late was nothing unusual. The fields behind the cottage were alive with all sorts of interesting creatures to keep him occupied, many of which he saw fit to drag through the cat-flap whatever the time. He’d appear when he was ready with a sharp meow and a fine line in ignoring the hand that fed him.

Mug in hand, she picked up her laptop from the table and carried it across to the sofa. If she was honest, the reason for not staying later at her parents had been nothing to do with business. No one would expect her to read her emails on a bank holiday and, if she’d been that desperate, she could have always checked her orders on her phone, despite her dad’s aversion to any and all things technological. He’d put a blanket-ban on the use of mobiles in the house except for the making and receiving of calls. After the initial annoyance and anxiety of not being able to check her device, it was actually a welcome relief to keep it in the bottom of her bag. No, the real reason she’d headed off early was because of Grace. Ever since seeing her, memories of their friendship had been uppermost in her mind.

Her fingers wandered over the keyboard, typing in Grace’s name – something she should have done years ago but she hadn’t been in a fit state at the time. With a missing boyfriend and baby she had far too much to think about, and it wasn’t as if a nine months’ pregnant woman could be tied up in Alys’s disappearance.

Izzy lifted her hand to her forehead, the start of a headache looming. Memories from that time were hazy but she’d just assumed that Grace had just upped and left. That it was something to do with her husband, Geraint Madden, a man she’d never met. He must have returned and whisked her away. People lost touch all the time and she could be forgiven in not following it up what with everything else going on. Grace had got tucked away in the back of her mind and she’d never bothered to pull her out again.

Her first name, Grace, wasn’t that unusual – an old-fashioned name but one that had been growing steadily in popularity. They’d even had one in her class at school. But despite that, she was confident she’d be able to find her online. Most people had an internet presence of some sort.

Izzy spent the next half hour trawling through Google, her tea growing cold by her side. But even though she found enough Graces to fill a football stadium, none of them seemed to be the right one. With the thought of her still lingering she snapped the laptop shut and headed back into the kitchen just in time to hear the cat flap rattle. Crouching down, she filled Bucket’s dish with his favourite cat food before switching the kettle on again and reaching for a camomile tea bag. There was also her mother’s homemade Christmas cake beckoning to her from the shelf and, before she knew it, she’d cut herself a large slice.

She dropped her spoon in the sink before carrying her mug and plate back into the lounge, Bucket trailing her heels. The evening wasn’t going as she’d planned. She thought by now she’d have a telephone number or a place of work …

There were jobs she could have been getting on with like packing up the latest orders ready for posting to America. She also needed to add to her pile of felt for more berets. But she wasn’t in the mood for any of it. Seeing Grace had unsettled her, and she didn’t know why. Common sense told her she should just let it go, that she should let her go. She obviously didn’t want to be found or she’d have signed up to Facebook. But, for some reason, Izzy’s stubborn streak wasn’t letting common sense have a look in. She was of a mind to carry on with her search.

Bucket disturbed her thoughts by jumping up on her knee, his loud purr a comfort, and her thoughts shifted away from Grace and to the question that had been lingering ever since that day in Swansea. Ever since that glimpse of black hair framing her pale face.

Had she given up too quickly on her daughter? She’d never forgotten her. She was always there. The girl she could see out of the corner of her eye. The girl being hoisted into the shopping trolley, a stuffed tiger clenched between chubby fingers. Any girl with blonde hair and dark blue eyes got a second look even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to recognise her now. Eyes changed colour. Hair darkened. Features altered. She wouldn’t recognise her even if she was standing next to her.

She rubbed Bucket behind his ears, dipping her mind into the past. She’d carried on actively searching for Alys throughout that first year. It was all about Alys, never Charlie. She couldn’t bear to hear his name let alone remember the good times they’d had together. It was all about finding her child. She’d hated him then and she still hated him for what he’d done to her, for what he was still doing. The only time she’d had any feeling without hatred at its heart, was the day she took the bus into Fishguard to track down his mother and stepfather. Then she’d felt sympathy for him and only then. When he’d refused to talk about his reasons for leaving home she’d been too busy with her own life to question him. But one look at the rundown semi and the foul-mouthed pair who called themselves his parents and everything made sense. She stayed long enough to find out that he hadn’t taken his passport before hurrying away to catch the next bus home.

It felt as if she’d been treading water those first twelve months, neither moving forwards or back. But the stress and strain eventually took their toll and, after the incident with the sleeping pills, she’d had to come to a decision, the hardest decision she’d ever had to make: her daughter or her? If she carried on with her obsession she’d end up, if not dead then in some mental institution. So, she stopped haranguing the police on a daily basis. She stopped contacting them at all. Instead, she joined a local knitting group and soon the day-to-day act of living inured her to any thoughts other than the most superficial.

The temperature plummeted as late afternoon slipped into evening. Izzy finally put a light to the stove before sitting back on her heels, her eyes mesmerised by the flames catching the scrunched-up newspaper and stretching out towards the kindling, her thoughts continuing into the past …

Chapter 4
Izzy

Five years ago

August must surely be the worst of months in which to find yourself pregnant.

She laughed at the thought. It wasn’t as if she’d just opened her eyes to being five months into this mistake of all mistakes. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t slept with Charlie, knowing full well she was taking a huge risk. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know the facts of life. No, not those – the other facts. The fact that if a bad thing was going to befall anyone around here it was always going to befall her. Before she’d left school all her classmates had been messing about with boys and had never gotten caught, which in a way had led her into a false sense of security. After all, as the least popular girl around, the likelihood of anyone asking her back to their place was zero. And yet, within six months, she was the one explaining to her parents what a mess she’d made of things.

She was hot, sweaty and, with four months left to run, she could only expect more of the same. Picking up her bag, she headed for the car, all the time muttering at the injustice of it all.

He gets to have a Saturday morning lie-in with a cup of tea brought to him in bed, more fool me, while I get to drive to the church hall on the other side of St David’s for the first of my antenatal sessions. You would have thought he’d have wanted to accompany me like any other expectant father … that’s the biggest joke of all.

She remembered his words. ‘But, Izzy, why did you have to make it Saturday? And anyway, I’ll be the only man there.’ He’d given her one of his little-boy-lost looks, the same one that had first attracted her to him when their eyes had met across a crowded room.

Yeah, corny as hell – it would have been romantic except that the room was the local chippy and she was the one serving him. If she’d had more sense she’d have realised what he was really after: extra fries and, as he’d just missed his last bus, a bed for the night. She should have known it was too good to be true. Who in their right mind chatted up the chip shop owner’s daughter after she’d spent four hours behind the deep-fat-fryer? She could almost taste the grease and, truth be told, the very last thing she was looking for was a man unless he came with a hot shower and a foot massage. But he came in just before closing and one look into his deep blue eyes and they both got a lot more than they’d bargained for, her hand instinctively reaching for the excess flesh hanging over the top of her leggings.

Now here she was, trying to squeeze into a parking space, thankful for once that she was the proud owner of a clapped-out Mini with over 100,000 miles on the clock and not some people carrier. But getting out was more awkward. Her waist had exploded over recent weeks but that was hardly surprising given her job. The problem with working in a chip shop was that she was always hungry. It never used to matter before she’d fallen pregnant. She’d eaten what she wanted and had never gained even an ounce – now she was plain fat. She was just thankful that Charlie had stayed around for as long as he had. He wasn’t perfect but then neither was she.

Izzy pulled a grimace at the sight of the four other women present, three of whom were accompanied by their partners. She’d always hated walking into a room by herself and, as she was the last one to arrive, she was forced to take a chair by the type of person she usually avoided. She scanned the woman’s perfect hair and perfect make-up, all set off by a cutesy designer maternity dress sprinkled with little white daisies. She’d even managed to cope with heels but then her ankles and feet were as nature intended and not swollen lumps of salami more suited to the deli counter at the local supermarket.

After a talk on healthy eating and tips on how to continue exercising, Carys, the midwife, called a short break and within minutes the three couples were chatting like old friends.

‘Hi, I’m Grace, pleased to meet you.’

Izzy looked up, surprised that anyone was bothering to speak to her, let alone the perfect woman sitting next to her.

‘Izzy and likewise,’ she said, offering a smile.

‘So, is this your first then?’

‘Yes, and probably my last at this rate.’

‘Whys that?’ Her heavily pencilled eyebrows swept upwards.

‘Oh, you don’t want to hear all about my troubles. What about you?’

Grace held out her left hand, displaying a shiny, plain gold band on her ring finger. ‘I’ve only just moved to the area. My husband is sorting out the sale of our house and then he’ll be joining me,’ she said with a smile. ‘What about a spot of lunch after we’ve finished – you can tell me all about living in St David’s?’

The choice wasn’t a difficult one. Lunch with Grace or popping into the chip shop and being roped into helping, despite it being her day off.

‘You were telling me about why this might be your only child?’ Grace said, sitting back in her chair and placing her hands protectively over her small baby bump.

‘It wasn’t planned or anything. I’m lucky he stayed around – it wasn’t meant to be more than a one-night stand.’

‘How exciting. He must really love you if he’s prepared to start a family straight away.’

‘Mmm, I don’t know about that.’ Izzy placed her half-finished burger back on her plate, trying to ignore the remainder of the chips. Charlie was far from perfect, unlike Grace’s husband, Geraint, a corporate lawyer. But she decided not to spoil Grace’s dreams of a happy-ever-after because that’s the one thing her life wasn’t. With Charlie still out of work, life was a daily struggle with only one wage coming in and adding a baby to the mix was going to be tougher still. She had no idea why he stayed but if she continued treating him the way she did, he’d leave. Then what would she do? She’d be left alone with a baby to look after.

‘You’re so lucky,’ Grace continued. ‘It took me ages to get pregnant and all you had to do was look at a bloke and your ovaries started twitching.’

‘Yeah, well, they can twitch all they like. After this bundle of joy is born, I’m going on a strict diet and on the pill. Charlie won’t recognise me,’ Izzy added, reaching for another chip.

‘I’m sure he loves you just the way you are,’ Grace said, lifting her bag onto her lap and pulling out her purse. ‘How about a coffee at my place? It’s so much better than the instant they have on the menu. I don’t mind having to forgo wine, but decent coffee is a must.’

Grace’s apartment, along New Street, was a temporary measure until her husband could join her. The coffee table in her plain white lounge was testament to that, littered as it was with details of dream farmhouses in and around the Pembrokeshire area.

‘I’ll bet you’re all organised for the birth,’ Grace said, handing her a mug of coffee before pushing a plate of chocolate biscuits in Izzy’s direction.

‘Well, we’ve had the nursery painted and bought a few outfits but, apart from that …’ She scrolled through the photos on her phone to the one of the nursery before handing it to her.

‘Lovely colour, yellow.’ Grace went to hand it back only to pause. ‘Is there one of Charlie on here?’

‘There’s one of him paddling,’ Izzy said, taking the phone back to search for the right photo.

Up until a few weeks ago she’d always joined him on his daily trip to the beach but that was out of the question now. Sunbathing in a size twelve swimsuit was totally different to the size she’d exploded to. Now she just rolled over in bed when she heard the door close behind him on his way out for a morning swim or whatever it was he got up to. He said he was trying to get a job and she’d like to believe him. A job would make all the difference and not just because of the money. He was drifting and with nothing to focus his attention on apart from her, she was afraid he’d soon realise that he could do an awful lot better.

‘Oh, not bad,’ Grace said, interrupting her thoughts, her eyes on his toned abs and flat stomach. ‘There’s something a little Ryan Gosling about him, especially around the eyes. Not a patch on my Geraint, of course.’ Her attention shifted to the framed black-and-white photograph above the mantelpiece. ‘But then again, beauty is in the eye of the beholder as they say. Help yourself to a biscuit.’ She stretched out her forefinger and tapped on the edge of the plate.

‘I really shouldn’t. I’m too fat as it is.’

‘Nonsense. It’s important to eat properly in these last few months. Anyway, you’ll lose it when the baby’s born, all that running about.’

‘I’m not so sure. I can’t seem to stop eating since I got caught.’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much – some men prefer bigger girls.’

‘How can he love a blob like me?’ Izzy sniffed, rubbing the back of her hand across her cheeks. ‘As soon as the baby is born and the sleepless nights kick in, he’ll up and leave for something slimmer and prettier and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. He’ll dump me and I’ll end up a single mum on benefits – another social statistic without two pennies to rub together.’ She blushed scarlet, not quite believing she’d told someone she’d only just met all that but, somehow it felt right.

‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that. You’re a very pretty girl, you know. A bit of make-up and toning after the baby is born and you’ll be fine. More than fine. And if Charlie does stray it’s probably not the end of the world,’ Grace said, her face hardening. ‘He obviously doesn’t deserve you. There’s nothing worse than being dependent on one man for everything. If anything happened to Geraint, God forbid, I’d be upset for a while, but I’d soon find someone else to fill the gap in my bed as well as my heart.’

Chapter 5
Gaby

Friday 27 December, 8.45 a.m. Swansea Police Station

‘DI Walker, if you have a minute. I’d like a word about the Grant case,’ Gaby said, as soon as she spotted him heading towards the coffee pot in the squad room.

‘Certainly, let’s go into one of the interview rooms. The downside of an open-plan office.’

Arriving for the first day in a new job straight after Christmas had to be the worst possible of starts. She’d only made it back to her flat late last night after a morning travelling back from Liverpool. In fact, it would have been better all round for everyone if she’d given Christmas a miss but that was something her mother would never have allowed. She might be the largest of disappointments but her presence was still demanded in the family home despite her mother’s thin mouth and harsh words.

She felt sick with apprehension. This was meant to be a new start, another one, and yet she was about to do the one thing she’d promised she wouldn’t. She was about to interfere.

‘Call me Rhys, just not when the guv is in earshot. What is it, er – Gaby? Unusual name, by the way.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she said with a smile. ‘It’s short for Gabriella, after my Italian grandmother.’

‘Indeed. Well, Gabriella Darin, what nugget of wisdom do you have to impart?’

He pushed the door open and gestured for her to enter first. She could feel his gaze wandering over her plain grey jacket and skirt and down to her feet, laced into sensible low-heeled shoes and she tried not to show that she’d noticed. Instead, she gritted her teeth and bit back a snappy comment. This was her new boss after all and it would serve her well if, just for once, she managed to keep her mouth shut.

‘Take a seat, Gaby.’ Rhys pulled out a chair and waited until she'd sat down.

‘Well, sir – Rhys. When I heard you speaking with the boss about the Grant case, I decided to look it up and—’

‘And solve what’s had the whole of the force, from John O’Groats to Land’s End, stumped for years?’ he said, his voice dry.

She parked her face in neutral before replying. ‘It’s not that.’ She chose her next words carefully. ‘Why did no one think to suspect the mother? Surely she has to be the prime suspect?’

‘Simply because she didn’t do it.’

‘But how could you know that? She had the best motive after all.’

‘And that motive was?’

‘Why, jealousy, of course,’ she said, on a roll. ‘She finds out her boyfriend, a boyfriend she’s only been with a few months, has been bonking her best friend, leaving her all alone to cope with a newborn.’

His eyes wavered, drifting down to the empty table and she just knew he was going to palm her off with some sort of hogwash drivel. She pressed her lips together and waited, her fingers curling into her palms.

‘Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm and all that but you weren’t on the case from day one. You didn’t have to witness the loss of hope on her face when we turned up at her door. You weren’t involved in the hours upon hours of legwork as we followed up on every lead, however tenuous. We turned over every stone within a ten-mile radius and didn’t find even one measly clue as to their whereabouts. He’s abroad by now, probably in some South American country where we’ll never find them.’

‘Or dead?’

He paused, his eyes trained on the wall behind her head, before he brought his gaze back to meet hers. ‘Yes, of course. Or dead. I’m surprised you opted for jealousy as the motive, Gaby. Why not something juicy, like a crime of passion?’

She ignored that. After all, the odds were she’d read the same crime psychology books as him. There was a wealth of reasons why people went on to commit murder: passion, greed, revenge, jealousy, anger. In this type of case, jealousy was statistically the most likely, something he would have known, so any reply on her part was irrelevant.

‘What about the card then?’

He steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘You have been busy. What do you know about the card … er … Gaby?’

‘She found it thrust under her door that first day – the card that engineered one of the largest police hunts Wales has seen in years, a police hunt that turned up zilch.’ She settled back in the chair, her legs tucked underneath, her expression expectant.

‘Look, you’re new here and keen as they come but I know she didn’t do it. Parental abduction is such a heinous crime but for it to happen to a newborn was virtually unheard of. It’s still unheard of. We carried out the investigation by the book. No.’ He brushed his hand across his face, presumably marshalling his thoughts. ‘We had no book to follow. We wrote the book on parental abduction of a newborn. We covered every angle …’

He paused for breath. ‘Now that we have Grace Madden back on the scene we’re going to bloody well search for her until we find her. We tried the last time and failed.’ He stared into the distance a moment, a frown appearing. ‘We couldn’t even find the husband and Geraint Madden is a whole lot more unusual a name than Grace. When we’ve found them we’ll have another think. Detective work is a little like being given a jigsaw puzzle for Christmas only to find that, when you open the box, the manufacturer has forgotten to give you any of the pieces. The clues drop out of the sky in a random snow-shower. There’s no pattern. No uniformity. Up until now we’ve had nothing to go on other than the most valuable commodity of all. A copper’s instinct.’

She watched him push himself up from the chair and shove his car keys in his pocket. Suddenly she was disappointed in him. She didn’t know why.

‘Come on. I’ll introduce you to the team.’ He hesitated, his eyes locking with hers and she could almost see the dark of his pupil dilating under her gaze. ‘I’m not going to beat around any bushes, Gaby. Life isn’t perfect, and a squad room is less perfect than most places. I can’t fight your battles for you. But whatever happens outside of this room, do me two favours; keep your chin up and keep me informed.’

‘Morning everyone. This is DC Gabriella Darin, newly transferred from Swansea. I’m sure you’ll all wish her a great big Welsh welcome,’ Rhys said, strolling to the front of the room to join DCI Brazil-North.

The squad room was crowded but then it was 9 a.m. after a two-day break. Everyone was scrambling around for a place to sit before the morning briefing, but no one paused to even look in her direction let alone offer her a smile. She scanned the sea of faces in their various forms. These were her colleagues, the ones meant to watch her back. These were the people she was meant to trust with her life. If they were anything like the lot in Cardiff she wasn’t even going to be able to trust them with a smile. Instead, she bit down hard on her lower lip, the dull, metallic taste of blood a welcome distraction. She’d thought Cardiff was bad, but they’d liked her at the start. It was only after, when they’d found out about— she shook her head. Cardiff was in her past and that was where she intended to keep it.

Her gaze slid to the far corner and the shy smile focused in her direction, and she took it in the same way a drowning man gasps for breath. Squaring her shoulders, she managed to catch the woman’s eye, just to confirm that the smile was meant for her, before crossing the room, well aware of all eyes following her progress.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey back. I’m Amy, Amy Potter, the family liaison officer. Pull up a chair and take the weight off.’

‘Thanks, everyone calls me Gaby,’ she said, looking at the slim, youthful blonde before quickly twisting in her chair to check out the other members of the team.

There were twelve in total, mostly men and all doing a fair job at not looking her in the eye. She was good at her job, bloody good, something they’d learn the hard way.

Amy leant forward, placing a hand on her arm. ‘Don’t mind this lot of Neanderthals. They’ll come around after they’ve gotten used to you.’ She pulled her hand back, her eyes now facing front, before whispering under her breath. ‘Shush. Brazil-North doesn’t take any prisoners.’

‘When you’re quite ready, DS Potter, DI Walker would like to update you on the Grant case.’

A collective groan spread across the room only to stop abruptly at the sound of the DCI banging the heel of her hand against the table.

‘I know we’ve been here before, many times. But there’s a new development. Over to you, Rhys.’

His gaze wandered over each and every one of them before finally starting to speak, his brow wrinkled. ‘There’s been a new sighting of Grace Madden. It’s not likely that a nine months’ pregnant woman would have been involved but there are questions that still need to be answered. We need to discover why she disappeared so soon after Charlie Dawson abducted Baby Grant. You must admit it’s all a bit too convenient. So I’d like to hear some ideas as to why Madden should suddenly turn up in Swansea?’

‘What about shopping?’ a large man standing at the back shouted, causing the room to erupt into laughter.

‘Very funny, Bill. To buy what exactly? If you don’t fancy a trip to the Quadrant Shopping Centre then I suggest you shut it.’ He scanned the room again before continuing, ‘I’m as fed up as you are that, after five years, we’re still no further forward in knowing what happened to the pair of them. So, why after so long would the friend suddenly appear on the scene or is it a harmless coincidence? There’s always been that unanswered question of whether Dawson was having an affair and if so, who with? It’s something we’ve been unable to either prove or otherwise. And what about Madden’s child? He or she’d be about the same age as Alys Grant by now.’

‘So, that’s school age. I’ll do a quick trawl of the local schools and nurseries to see if anything gets spat out,’ Bill said, probably in an effort to reprieve himself.

‘Good idea. We don’t have the resources to spend too much time on this so just carry on with what you’re doing for now. We’ll catch up on Monday unless there’s any further developments.’ He turned away, making for the door, tilting his head in Gaby’s direction.

‘Good luck,’ Amy whispered into her ear. ‘He looks in a mood. We always thought he had a thing for the mother – this won’t help.’

Gaby nodded her head before threading her way through the chairs, her eyes focused on the door and the back of his broad shoulders.

So he had a thing for Isabelle Grant, did he? Good to know and perhaps useful to the investigation.

She put on a sudden burst of speed to catch him up, her mind carefully shelving that nugget of information for when she had more time to examine it. Her instinct was telling her if they found Grace Madden, Charlie and Alys would be close behind.

Chapter 6
Izzy

Friday 27 December, 9.45 a.m. Abereiddy

Izzy couldn’t settle. There was work to be done. Her website to update and orders to get ready. But instead of entering her workroom she sat in the lounge in front of the fire with her cat on her lap, reluctant to do any of the jobs mounting up. Grace Madden was the key to the mess that was her life. The only problem was she didn’t know what to do about it. She’d passed it on to Rhys but she knew from experience that finding her wouldn’t be a priority for the police. If they couldn’t find her five years ago the trail would be stone cold by now.

It took Bucket jumping down to interrupt where her thoughts were taking her, his deep-amber, unblinking glare trained on her face. Reaching down a hand she dragged it across his back, relishing in the soft silkiness of his fur. Sometimes it felt as if he was her only friend. He was certainly her most loyal. She’d found him hiding in an old bucket within weeks of losing Alys. In those dark days she’d roamed the countryside searching for clues, whatever the weather, and it was like an omen finding him curled up, covered in fleas. He was battle-scarred too with a torn ear and scratched face - who knew what kind of life he’d had to endure before she happened upon him. They were alike, muddling through from day to day. His needs were simple. Plain food and warmth and for that she got more purrs than she could cope with and a warm body to tuck up to at night.

‘All right, boy, I’m coming.’ She followed him into the kitchen and to where he was now staring into his bowl. It was like a personal affront for him to find his food bowl empty. She still couldn’t face the thought of cooking a meal and even had to hold her nose to prevent the smell of fish turning her stomach. Food didn’t interest her in the same way it had during her pregnancy. Her thoughts returned to the size she’d once exploded to – there was nothing like a heavy dose of tragedy to make the pounds slip away. She was thinner now than she’d ever been but no happier. She used to think that the width of her waist and the breadth of her hips were in direct correlation to her happiness, but it hadn’t worked out like that. All those months obsessing about her weight … She’d been at her fattest when she’d been with Charlie and yet he’d said he loved her for her pretty smile and sparkling eyes – well, that’s what he used to tell her. Now she struggled to remember those glossy shiny words. She certainly didn’t believe them.

She wandered back into the lounge, placing a fresh drink on the coffee table before adding a couple of logs to the wood burner and sitting in her favourite chair. There had to be a way to find Grace.

Chapter 7
Izzy

Five years ago

Izzy pulled back her wardrobe door, sweeping a hand at the array of misshapen T-shirts, leggings and granny cardigans neatly lined up.

‘I’ve got nothing to wear and I so want to look my best,’ she moaned, pulling at the T-shirt that only half covered her belly before glancing across at her friend’s neat little bump.

Grace patted her hand. ‘It won’t be for much longer. Only one week to go and it could be early,’ she said, arching her left eyebrow. ‘What about your maternity jeans and that pretty blue blouse with the embroidery around the neck?’ She drew out the hangers and held them up for inspection.

‘I suppose they’ll do,’ Izzy said, placing her hands to her lower back and stretching.

‘Have you been having any more pain than usual? That’s normally the first sign.’

‘Only after last night’s curry,’ she said with a grin. ‘Dad does a wicked chicken vindaloo.’

‘What, with chips on the side?’ Grace teased.

Izzy smiled back where before she’d have taken it to heart but Grace was different. She’d only known her a few weeks but in that time she’d become one of her best friends, if not the best. Charlie continued to refuse to attend parenting classes, but it didn’t matter so much now she knew that Grace would be there. Life seemed to be settling down into a pattern and one she wasn’t unhappy with. Charlie had managed to surprise her by picking up a job. It wasn’t much, just manning the pumps at the local petrol station, but it was a start. There was now a spring in his step and that morning he’d even swung her around in the kitchen before planting a big kiss against her mouth, just like he’d used to in the early days.

‘I’m taking my two best girls out for a slap-up meal tonight as it’s payday,’ he said, bending down and pressing a kiss against her belly.

‘You daft thing.’ But she was secretly pleased, more than pleased. She’d thought they were floating, drifting apart at a time when she needed him more than ever but apparently not. Maybe there was hope for them yet.

She smiled again, a slow lingering smile that must have highlighted her happiness because Grace paused, her eyes scanning her face with a frown, any trace of laughter now wiped clean.

‘What?’

‘I’m not sure whether I should tell you.’

‘Tell me what?’ Izzy picked up her mug and took a sip, all her attention focused on the woman opposite. Grace obviously had something she was determined to tell her, something she wasn’t going to like.

‘If you knew something, something important about someone … something that might cause them distress, what would you do, knowing full well it could be the end of their friendship?’

Izzy dropped her gaze and took a moment to place her mug on the bedtable, careful to push it away from the edge before finally raising her head. She had no need to explain who she was talking about because of course she was talking about her. Something that could ruin their friendship – it must be something to do with Charlie.

‘Just tell me.’

‘If you’re sure you’re willing to hear?’

‘You can’t start something and not finish it,’ she snapped, wanting to get whatever Grace had to say out into the open so she could deal with it. She shifted her hand to her belly, smoothing her palm across the taut bump, the discomfort from yesterday starting up again with a vengeance. Perhaps she should phone the midwife but first she needed to hear what Grace had to say.

‘You know I had to go into Swansea yesterday?’

‘Yes, you said already.’

‘Well …’ She brushed her hair back with a restless hand. ‘I decided to pop into one of the cafés along the Waterfront and Charlie was there.’

Now she had her attention, all of it. Her gaze shifted from her hand to Grace’s face, all thought of her belly ache pushed to the corner of her mind. ‘Charlie? My Charlie? But you’ve never met him. How would you—?’

‘Remember you showed me his photo on your phone. It’s a good likeness.’

‘You must be mistaken.’ She sank down on to the side of the bed. ‘He left early to work at the garage—’

‘Okay. Sorry, but I was so sure, the man I saw even had a birthmark in the centre of his cheek … Maybe it was just someone that looked like him,’ she said, picking up her mug and taking a deep sip.

Izzy felt the colour drain from her face and the room start to spin. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think and suddenly the burning pain she’d been feeling since last night surged, causing her to clutch at her belly. There was more, of course there was, and she steeled herself, her nails digging deep into her palms, her breath coming out in a long gasp.

‘Go on.’

‘I don’t get it?’ Grace’s eyes widened.

‘Tell me the rest then.’

‘Izzy, I—’

‘Tell me the rest, goddammit or I’ll ring him up and ask him.’

Grace swallowed hard, her eyes wavering but Izzy had no sympathy. Her so-called best friend was about to smash her fairy tale into smithereens. It wasn’t much of a fairy tale but, at least it was hers. It was all she had. It was all she’d ever wanted, her hand instinctively gripping the side of the mattress as another wave of pain wracked though her body.

‘He was with a woman.’

‘Is that all?’ she said, letting air seep out of her lungs. ‘He has loads of female friends. They all hang around in a crowd. Just because—’

‘Listen Izzy, he was all over her like a rash. It was embarrassing. In the end the waitress had to come over and ask them to leave.’

She stared back, her mouth slightly open. Why would Grace do this to her? She’d thought her a friend, her best friend. A kindred spirit if you like. But now it was as if the blinkers had fallen away and she was seeing Grace for the very first time and she didn’t like what she saw. Why tell her now about Charlie? Just what was she trying to achieve?

Bracing her hands on the bed she pushed herself to standing. She had to get out of the room or she’d scream. She’d scream and never stop. But something was wrong, very wrong as the spasm of pain intensified. She closed her eyes briefly before opening them and staring across at the woman she could barely recognise.

‘What is it, Izzy? What’s wrong?’

Chapter 8
Izzy

Friday 27 December, 10.00 a.m. Abereiddy

She blinked rapidly, running that last conversation over in the quiet of her mind. She needed to think about the one thing that was bothering her.

The birthmark.

Her forehead pleated as she struggled to think. She remembered telling the police about Grace’s insistence that Charlie was having an affair. That was one of the things that had instigated them trying to find her. But had she ever told them about the birthmark? She knew there’d been something that hadn’t made sense at the time, but she couldn’t work it out and she’d quickly forgotten under the weight of everything else. Her waters breaking. The frantic rush to hospital. The long, drawn-out labour culminating in an emergency caesarean section.

The issue of how Grace had recognised Charlie from a photograph she’d only glimpsed months before, a photograph that hadn’t included his defining feature, was swept away on a tidal wave of pain, joy and then deceit. The birthmark wasn’t big or anything. In fact, she’d thought it cute. It was an integral part of him which she loved along with his cheeky smile and twinkly blue eyes. But Charlie had hated it with a passion. He’d even considered having it removed when he had enough money to pay for the surgery. He was always insistent that any photos had to be taken from what he termed his good side – she knew from experience that he’d only delete any snaps where it featured.

She felt her eyes prick. Even after all this time the thought of his betrayal still hurt. She’d hoped by now she’d be immune to the memory of his two-timing ways, but love wasn’t like that. She didn’t love him anymore. Instead she hated him with every waking breath. But, in the dark recesses and in her dreams, she still remembered how it was. She still remembered how they were. She’d have bet anything that he was genuine and she’d have lost. No. She did lose. She’d lost everything.

The birthmark, she knew it must be important and, after five years of an already exhaustive search there wasn’t going to be much new to go on. But this time it was going to be different. This time she wasn’t going to search for Charlie. This time she was going to expend her energies on trying to find Grace, if only to ask her straight out if she’d been sleeping with her boyfriend. Time was against her. Grace had probably forgotten all about their little friendship but, what the hell. She wasn’t looking for anything apart from the truth and she certainly didn’t need her in her life, not now. All she wanted was to stare her in the face while she asked her the question that had been waiting five years.

What bloke would cheat on a nine months’ pregnant woman with another one? But what other answer could there be?

Chapter 9
Izzy

Friday 27 December, 3.15 p.m. Withybush Hospital

Being in the Midwifery Suite for the first time since losing Alys was right up there with getting a tooth pulled. The last time, she’d left the suite and been escorted to the Mini with a wreath of smiles, Charlie by her side, his knuckles gleaming white as he clutched onto the car seat with both hands. A new baby was a celebration just as a lost baby was a tragedy.

But Alys wasn’t missing, or that’s what Izzy kept trying to tell herself. She’d just lost her way and it was up to the person that loved her the most to find her.

She eventually tracked down Carys, the lead midwife, in her office, a shoebox of a room with breastfeeding posters on the walls. She could tell straight away that she remembered her. But that was hardly surprising. The story had made the front of the South Wales Echo within a day and the front of all the nationals by the end of that first week.

She took her time settling in her seat before lifting her bag onto her lap, more for something to hold onto than anything. Heaving a sigh, she told herself she could do this. She was here to find out about Grace, and she wasn’t leaving until Carys had told her everything she knew.

Five minutes of wrangling and word games later, and Izzy’s temper had started to rise. She didn’t care about patient confidentiality and it wasn’t as if there was anything confidential in the questions she was asking. All she wanted was some clue that could lead her to Grace. She wasn’t fussy – anything would do.

She hadn’t seen Grace since her friend had popped into the hospital with the cutest toy rabbit for Alys. There was no note, no text or message after to let her know she’d upped and left town and Izzy was too tied up with Alys and then her abduction to think anything of it. But now she needed to know and Carys wasn’t prepared to help.

‘But it’s not as if I’m asking you to divulge anything secret. I know she was living in that new block of flats opposite the bus station.’

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ she said, not quite meeting her eye. ‘Have you thought to ask the other women attending the sessions? Maybe they can help.’

The other couples? Izzy closed her eyes briefly, trying to picture them through the veil of time that had turned them into dim shadows – it was useless. She could scarcely remember what they looked like let alone conjure up a name.

‘No, sorry. I wouldn’t know where to start.’

Carys stared back, her smile softening. ‘How about if I tell you how the sessions are organised? That part is public knowledge and there may be something to help. The way the group works is by months, so all expectant mothers and their partners are invited to sessions, four calendar months before their baby’s due date.’

‘And who invites them?’ Izzy said, returning the smile, relieved that she wasn’t going to be turned away with nothing.

‘Through their GP initially. So, your friend would have had to register with a doctor’s surgery when she moved into the area.’

Carys flicked a look at her watch before shuffling the folders in front of her. ‘I do hope you find her. We were all devastated when it happened.’

Izzy made her way to the door, offering a brief thanks. Carys had been more helpful than she could have been in the circumstances and it certainly wasn’t her fault that Charlie had done what he had. She just hoped and prayed that she’d be able to find Grace after a gap of five years. She’d as good as told her he was having an affair. She hadn’t believed her at the time. Now the only question in her mind was – who with?

‘Hello, I’d like to make an appointment.’

‘Name?’

‘Madden, Mrs Grace Madden.’

‘I’m sorry. I can’t seem to find your details on the system. Which doctor did you say you were with?’

Izzy’s fingers curled around the receiver briefly before slotting it back into place, though what she really wanted to do was smash it to smithereens. She’d tried all the doctor’s practices in and around the St David’s area only to draw a complete blank. How on earth did Grace get to hear about the parenting sessions if she hadn’t registered with a GP? It was all a mystery and one she intended to solve.

‘Finished on the phone, love? You stop there and I’ll go and make you your favourite drink. There’s no need to rush off. It seems an age since we had a good old natter.’

She was around at Mam’s, simply because, after leaving the hospital, she’d been too wound up to make her way back home.

‘But I was only here a couple of days ago,’ she said, throwing her a smile over one shoulder. ‘What more could you possibly want to discuss?’

‘Nothing in particular and anyway, Christmas doesn’t really count. All that food is conducive to a bout of indigestion and not a good chat,’ her mam said with a grin, pushing a mug of chocolate into her hands, topped with marshmallows and cream. ‘Just the way you like it.’

Perhaps when she was fifteen but now wasn’t the time to say anything. Her mam was always trying to feed her up and today Izzy was just going to give in. She loved her really and, in a world that was suddenly feeling all a bit strange, that was the most important thing.

‘Thanks Mam, love you,’ she said, lifting the mug and letting the explosion of sugar assault her tongue with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. After all, there was nothing quite like chocolate to lift the spirits and it was meant to be good for you, although perhaps not with quite so many marshmallows.

‘Love you back,’ she replied, and they shared a smile as the years fell away. The drifting apart since losing Alys seemed to fade and it was just like it was in the old days before Charlie, before everything.

Hot chocolate finished, they hugged the table with their elbows, their knees nearly touching under the warped Formica, the same table Izzy used to sit at to do her homework. The same table she’d laughed and cried all over with this woman by her side. Her mother’s periwinkle-blue eyes were a little dimmed by time, the skin edged with wrinkles. Her hair was still a deep auburn mainly thanks to her fortnightly visit to the hairdresser. She put Izzy to shame with her smart matching lambs-wool jumper and skirt, the diamond hoop earrings Dad had bought her for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary glittering in the weak sun. But now wasn’t the time to bemoan the state of her own wardrobe. Izzy had more important things to think about.

‘Mam, did you ever hear me speaking about a Grace Madden?’

She’d finally decided to share her concerns with someone and who better than her mother. Bethan was too tied up with the farm and the boys and there was no one else.

‘You mean that stuck-up piece that dropped you when Alys went missing?’

Izzy placed her mug back on the table with a careful hand before meeting her gaze. ‘That’s unlike you. You’re usually the most mild-mannered woman I know,’ she said, a frown appearing.

‘Well, what of it? It’s true. I’ll never know what you saw in her. Your dad and I couldn’t have been happier when she did a runner. You’re so much better with that nice Rebecca Walker for a friend. A bad influence is what that Madden woman was with her airs and fake tan to match her fake accent.

‘You never said.’

‘What do you expect? You had more than your hands full with Charlie and then the baby.’ She leant forward and pressed her hand. ‘Not a day goes by when I don’t think of Alys and I still hope that Charlie will come to his senses and get in touch.’ She shook her head, rooting for the tissue that always lived up the sleeve of her jumper. ‘You’ve gone and locked yourself away in that house of my mother’s and we barely see you.’

‘I’m busy with the business.’

Her mam sat back in her chair. ‘Really? Busy all day every day? We only live a few miles down the road and, if that’s too far, we’re on the end of the phone. It’s always us that have to do the running. I don’t mean to nag, love, but it’s been as hard for us as it has for you. Not only have we lost Alys we also seem to have lost you in the process. You’ve changed from a fun-loving girl to a shadow where there’s work and little else. Charlie was a nice enough lad, but the world is jam-packed with men and here you are living the life of a nun.’

‘How do you know I’m not out with a different man each night of the week?’ Izzy said, managing to conjure up a weak smile.

‘Well, are you?’

Izzy blushed, shaking her head.

‘Just promise me you’ll try and think on what I’ve said. Your dad and I are worried about you.’ She went to push herself up from the table only to pause, her hands squared flat against the top. ‘Come on, enough of this talk. You were telling me about Grace?’

‘I saw her last week in Swansea,’ Izzy said, choosing her words carefully. ‘I saw her and now I don’t know what to think.’

‘I don’t know what you mean? I thought she left the area.’ Her mam narrowed her eyes. ‘I think that’s what you told me.’

‘I’m not sure it’s that simple, Mam,’ she said finally. ‘The truth is she just disappeared without a trace, around the same time as Charlie and Alys.

‘But why would she?’

‘I don’t know. But there’s one thing for sure. I intend to find out.’

It was nearly nine o’clock by the time Izzy finally got up to leave.

‘You’ll be careful on the roads, won’t you? You’re sure you don’t want to stay the night?’

‘I can’t, Mam, Bucket would never forgive me,’ she said, dragging her into a hug before heading out to the van.

She’d always hated driving at night, especially at this time of year when the only light was from the odd house along the barely inhabited stretch of A487. But, for once, she didn’t spare a thought for the journey ahead. If the car broke down, she’d just phone someone. It wasn’t as if it was a long trip or anything, and her mind was too full of the past to be bothered by something so inconsequential.

She couldn’t get the three of them out of her head: Charlie, Alys and Grace. She also couldn’t stop thinking about her own paltry existence. It suddenly felt as if she’d let life slip her by while she set up her business and expanded her customer base. Her life had turned into a pale image of what it could have been. Instead of having a family, all she thought about was where the wool for her next design was coming from and how best to photograph her latest project. She was a one-woman master-crafter with a strong online following and a growing business. If things carried on she’d have to take on more than the handful of local women she already employed to help her turn her hand-spun wool into works of art. She’d pushed aside all thought of what her life was meant to be. She’d turned her back on trying to meet another man just as she’d turned her back on trying to find Alys …

Maybe some music would help to keep her brain from performing somersaults. She turned on the radio and started fiddling with the dial to find a station playing the latest tunes, anything to keep her thoughts at bay. But they wouldn’t be quietened. She tried to convince herself that she hadn’t forgotten, that she hadn’t given up on Alys, but it was all a lie. She should have still been out there everyday hunting the streets and banging on every door. If she could turn back the clock, there were so many things she’d change. Her life had gone off on a tangent where work had tried to fill the place of her child.

She blinked rapidly, before flipping the radio off. Listening to Adele telling her how much she missed her was just what she didn’t need – she had enough darkness in her soul without her interference. She was pleased beyond belief when she finally reached the turning for home – the tangled ivy, twisting up the brickwork, glistening in the light cast from her headlamps.

A sigh escaped. She wasn’t one of those romantics that found enchantment around every corner, but this house was so much more than simply bricks glued with mortar. It was both her haven and refuge. The place she used to come every Wednesday when Granny picked her and her sister up from school. She’d let them dump their bags and shoes by the back door before trailing through to the kitchen for homemade Welsh cakes, still hot from the griddle.

She slammed the door closed on her memories and placed her shoes in the basket before hanging her coat and beret on the old mahogany hat stand. The front door opened straight into the lounge, which meant she had to be extra tidy in case of impromptu visitors. Bucket jumped down from the back of the sofa to wrap himself around her ankles, a deep purr and gentle meow telling her in no uncertain terms that he was hungry.

‘All right, boy. Time for supper.’ But before she made her way into the kitchen, Izzy ran through the list of evening checks she’d carried out by rote ever since she’d moved in.

Van locked and keys in the bowl on the table. Front door locked and security chain fastened. Windows secure in the lounge although, as she hadn’t opened them in what felt like months, there was little chance of them having been left open. But that didn’t stop her from checking. She couldn’t remember the number of times she’d snuggled up in bed only to remember she’d forgotten to check one of the windows or doors.

Izzy eyed her mobile, sitting on the table. She really should phone Rebecca for a catch-up. It was funny in a way that she now counted Rebecca, a friend from her school days and the antithesis of Grace, as her closest friend. But Rebecca understood her where Grace never had. Izzy wasn’t interested in make-up or trying to make the best of herself. She dressed how she wanted and relished nothing more than the thought of her own company. When they met they talked non-stop but they’d often go days or even weeks without a word. She took a step forward only to pause and head for the stairs. For once she felt in need of a chat – the only thing stopping her was the fact that Rebecca was Rhys’s little sister.

The house boasted three bedrooms, all situated in the roof space, so boiling in summer and far too cold and expensive to heat in winter. She ignored the room on the left; it held too many bitter memories of those first two exciting days after her homecoming. Oh, there weren’t many. Alys had never spent a night there, her place being in the crib by her side of the bed. But it was where she’d changed her nappy, the changing table angled under the window in the eaves so that she could stare out at the rolling hills behind. It was where she’d stored her tiny selection of clothes – clothes she’d finally bundled up into sacks and dropped off at the local charity shop. The room might be empty of everything associated with Alys, but it would never be empty to her.

Lying back in bed, her hands behind her head and Bucket by her feet, Izzy’s thoughts continued to interrupt any idea of rest. With the arrival of Grace things were changing, small things like Mam telling her what she thought for once. She hoped the change continued because returning to a life where work played the dominant part wasn’t going to be enough anymore.

Chapter 10
Gaby

Friday 27 December, 6.05 p.m. The King’s Arms.

‘So, what was that you were saying about Rhys and Isabelle Grant?’

‘Shush, keep your voice down. If either Bill or Shea hear, I’ll be mincemeat.’

Gaby and Amy were sitting around a large table in the back of the pub, nursing large glasses of Chenin Blanc while Bill and Shea hugged pints of lager to their chests, all their attention on the game of rugby on the TV screen hanging on the wall.

‘Sorry,’ Gaby said, taking a large sip of wine before placing it carefully back on the table. She’d been looking forward to joining Amy for a drink ever since she’d suggested it in the office earlier. It was just her luck that a couple of the other detectives had decided to tag along at the last minute.

‘There’s no need to apologise,’ Amy said, lowering her voice to a whisper, her eyes flickering to the men opposite. ‘I just wouldn’t put it past either of them to let Rhys know that we’ve been gossiping about him.’

‘Fat chance of that.’

‘Exactly. As if we don’t have better things to gossip about.’ Amy nudged her with her elbow, her eyes gleaming, all her attention now focused on the couple of hunks walking across the bar. ‘You can have the balding one on the right.’

‘Great!’

Gaby was surprised by how nice it was sitting there, the warmth from the log fire adding an extra layer of atmosphere to the traditional pub with oak beams strung with an assortment of golden horse brasses. She’d never been one for close female friendships. For a start she’d always been too tied up with work. She’d been a loner as a child and that had continued into adulthood. But Amy seemed different. Maybe it was because of her career choice as family liaison officer but, whatever the reason, she appeared to have an insight and perception far in excess of her years. From the look of her clear skin and bright gaze, she’d guess her at being mid-twenties – so probably a good five years younger than her own twenty-nine years – but with a maturity of twice that age.

She drained the rest of her glass and, lifting her black leather bag, stood to her feet. ‘We still have half an hour before the taxi comes – fancy another?’

‘Why not. I’ll give you a hand.’ Amy turned to Bill and Shea. ‘The same again, boys?’

‘Now, where were we? Oh, yes – Rhys and Isabelle Grant.’

Within seconds of them arriving at the bar, a pair of leggy blondes descended as if out of nowhere and whisked both men away from under Amy’s nose. But she just shrugged her shoulders with a laugh before hopping onto one of their vacated bar stools and throwing Gaby a smile.

‘You win some …’ she said, rolling her eyes before picking up her glass and taking a sip. ‘Oh yes. Rhys.’ Her voice dropped a level. ‘I’m not sure how the rumour started, probably right from the beginning of Baby Grant’s disappearance although, now I come to think of it, he wasn’t even part of the initial investigation. It was meant to be Bill’s case, but Rhys’s old man soon changed that.’

‘Rhys’s old man,’ Gaby repeated, peering at her over the top of her glass. Of all the things she’d expected her to say that wasn’t one of them,

‘The DCI,’ Amy replied, lowering her voice. ‘I thought you would have known. Brazil-North has only been here about three years. Up until then Elijah Walker was the guv and a right stickler too. Ex-military. You know the type. Very strict on the uniform. He even had us lining up for daily inspections. The whole station breathed a sigh of relief when he decided to take early retirement and move to Yorkshire. Well anyway, I’d only just joined straight from university and was completely wet behind the ears but even I could see that his father was booting Rhys up the rungs of the ladder super quick.’ She threw a quick glance across at Bill and Shea before continuing. ‘Not that he wasn’t up for it. From the beginning I was struck by the hours he was spending on the case. Okay, so his father was right behind him making sure he did a proper job but he barely left his desk in the early days and when she tried to top herself—’

‘What?’ Gaby said, her eyes widening. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me? I know there are a few boxes left to work through but …’

‘Sorry, I thought they had. It was kept out of the papers, thanks to Rhys. She was crazy with grief, around the station all the time even when she wasn’t needed. Not eating. Not sleeping. Not washing. A disaster on legs. She had to be driven back home most days that first year. And he was always there for her. Never a harsh word. It was tea and sympathy laced with that little extra something he couldn’t hide no matter how hard he tried. We all knew that it wasn’t about finding Alys. It was all about finding Izzy’s child, only that. I know that sounds like the same thing but, believe me, it’s not. If there was a reward for effort he’d have won it hands down,’ she said, gesturing to the barman. ‘It was personal and, despite the five-year gap, it’s still personal.’ She rummaged around in her bag for her purse before withdrawing a twenty. ‘He won’t give up unless we find her and, of course, what real chance is there after all this time?’

Gaby shifted back on the bar stool, mulling over Amy’s words. Rhys was quite a bit older than Izzy Grant, ten years or more and yet he’d never married. Was that the reason for him nearly barking at her when she’d asked about the case? Unrequited love. She frowned, her thoughts stepping into the cesspool that she still struggled to cope with. But with her, it hadn’t been unrequited. Her hands clenched, her nails biting deep as a picture of Leigh Clark escaped the locked compartment of her mind. Leigh Clark, the tall, broad-shouldered man she’d given her heart to in Cardiff only to find that it wasn’t love, not on his part. It had taken a visit from his heavily pregnant wife for Gaby to come to her senses. With her personal life imploding along with her professional one, she’d had no choice but to leave.

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