About the Author

JANE BETTANY won the Gransnet and HQ writing competition in 2019, which was for women authors over the age of forty who had written a novel with a protagonist in the same age range. In Cold Blood is her debut novel, but she has been writing short stories and articles for over twenty years, many of which have appeared in women’s magazines, newspapers and literary publications.

Jane lives in Derby and has an MA in Creative Writing. She takes daily walks in local beauty spots and enjoys visiting the delightful towns and villages of Derbyshire and its neighbouring counties.

In Cold Blood
JANE BETTANY

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Jane Bettany 2020

Jane Bettany 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 © September 2020 ISBN: 9780008407643

Version: 2020-08-06

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Acknowledgements

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For Howard, with love

Chapter 1

The pantry was musty and airless and smelt faintly of curry powder and something that Amy couldn’t identify. It was a tiny space, crammed with out-of-date food, a battered collection of saucepans, and containers filled with dried fruit and breakfast cereals. She emptied the shelves doggedly, thrusting everything into a heavy-duty bin bag.

Reaching into the corner of the highest shelf, she retrieved the last items: a jar of pickled onions and some homemade blackberry jam. Strictly speaking, she should throw the contents away and wash out the jars for recycling – but sod that. She had better things to do with her time. Instead, being careful not to break the glass, Amy placed the jars in the bag and tied it with a double knot ready to take to the bin.

It was as she turned to switch off the light that she noticed the marks on the wall. Height marks. Just inside the door.

A child grew up in this house, she thought, as she traced the pencilled scratches with her fingers. An only child. One set of marks.

The first measurement appeared in the lower third of the wall, alongside a date – 15th January 1965. The marks crept higher with each passing year. The last was dated 15th January 1977 and recorded a height of 5′ 6″.

Perhaps the 15th of January was the child’s birthday, Amy thought. There must have been an annual ritual to record his or her height on the pantry wall.

She wondered why the marks had stopped in 1977. At 5′ 6″, a teenage girl would be fully grown. A boy might have gone on to gain a few more inches.

The measurements were a part of the history of the house that would soon be gone forever. When the new kitchen was installed, the pantry would be removed and replaced with tall, sliding larder cupboards. She and Paul had chosen a range of expensive, glossy units that would provide the kind of high-quality finish they hoped would sell the house.

Planning permission had been granted for a huge extension that would more than double the size of the existing kitchen. Amy’s vision was for a light-filled, open-plan living space with shiny work surfaces, top-of-the-range appliances, and a vast dining area. There would be skylights and bi-fold doors opening onto the rear garden. Once completed, the bright, airy room would be the redeeming feature of the otherwise unremarkable 1960s house they had bought at auction eight weeks earlier.

Grabbing the bin bag, Amy took one last look at the height marks before switching off the light and closing the pantry door. It was cold, so she flicked the kettle on to make a hot drink. Paul had been outside for most of the day, digging out the foundations for the extension. He would be ready for another brew.

As she waited for the water to boil, the back door opened and Paul came in, shivering. He was pale. Unsmiling.

‘What’s up?’ Amy said. ‘Has something happened?’

‘You could say that. I’ve only gone and found a fucking body.’

Amy tutted. ‘Yeah, right. Very funny, bro.’ Paul had been a wind-up merchant all his life. It was a trait he should have grown out of by now.

‘Seriously. I’m not kidding, Ames.’

‘Course you’re not. What is it? A cat? Dog? Someone’s long-dead hamster?’

‘It’s an animal, all right. Of the human variety.’

Dread tugged at Amy’s stomach muscles. ‘You’d better be joking,’ she said.

‘Come and take a look for yourself if you don’t believe me.’

She followed him outside. They skirted the partially excavated foundation trench and stood next to what would eventually be the far corner of the extension.

‘Down there.’ Paul pointed at something protruding from the soil.

Leaning in closer, Amy realised it was the upper part of a human skull; the forehead and eye sockets jutted out from the damp layer of earth at the bottom of the metre-deep trench. If it had been buried a few inches lower, Paul would never have known it was there.

‘Shit!’ She blew air through her cheeks. ‘This is awful.’

‘You can say that again. It’s going to delay everything. There’s no chance of getting the extension finished before the new year now.’

Amy wrapped her arms across her body and glared at her brother.

‘Paul! Are you for real? A body, somebody, has been lying here for God knows how long and all you’re bothered about is the extension?’

‘Come on, sis, don’t give me a hard time. Our inheritance is tied up in this house. We need to get the work finished, sell up and move on to the next project. That’ – he pointed into the trench – ‘is a bloody disaster. The delay it’ll cause is bad enough, but if word gets out, it’s going to knock thousands off the property value. No one will be interested in buying this place, with or without a swanky kitchen. Who wants to live in a house where someone’s been murdered?’

Paul’s usual flippancy had vanished, replaced by a demeanour that was uncharacteristically sombre, almost hostile. He was obviously worried.

‘Do you think that’s what happened here then?’ Amy said. ‘Murder?’

‘Of course it is. Use your nous. The body didn’t bury itself, did it?’

‘It could have been here for hundreds of years,’ she said. ‘A body buried during the civil war or something.’

‘Civil war?’ He scowled, shaking his head dismissively. ‘What are you on about, Amy? This isn’t an ancient battlefield.’

‘OK. So maybe it was buried a lot more recently. Either way, the local paper’s going to have a field day.’

Paul trailed the fingertips of his right hand along his jawline and studied the trench thoughtfully. ‘Only if they find out about it,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ She narrowed her eyes, staring at her brother in disbelief. ‘Of course they’ll find out.’

‘Not if we don’t report it.’

‘What?’ she said, incredulous. ‘No way!’

‘Think about it. If I hadn’t dug such a deep trench, or the body had been buried a few inches further down, we’d have been none the wiser.’

Amy lifted her hands and locked her fingers across the top of her head. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting we keep quiet about this?’

‘Why not? If I pour the concrete foundations now, this little problem will stay buried forever. No one will know but us.’

He leaned back and let the muscles in his shoulders relax. Just talking about a solution seemed to have calmed him. Paul’s proposal offered a quick fix, an easy way out – but Amy was horrified by the idea.

She spun away from the trench, groaning with exasperation. ‘Firstly,’ she said, ‘this is not a “little problem”. Whoever it is lying down there was once a living, breathing human being. Don’t you think they deserve some kind of justice, or a proper burial at least? And secondly, what if the person responsible for this is still around? They know what’s hidden here. If they get away with it, what’s to say they won’t do it again somewhere else?’

‘Bloody hell, sis.’ Paul rubbed the back of his neck and kicked irritably at a clump of soil with his work boot. ‘Why do you always have to be such a goody-two-shoes?’

Amy peered down at the skull – into the empty eye sockets from which someone had once looked out at the face of their killer. Every house has its own secret history, she thought, remembering the height marks scratched into the pantry wall. Some things are best left hidden, but this definitely isn’t one of them.

She pulled out her phone and dialled 101.

Chapter 2

Detective Inspector Isabel Blood gripped the steering wheel of her car and drove through the streets of Bainbridge as fast as the speed limit would allow. She was heading to the secondary school where her youngest daughter was a pupil. At Isabel’s age, attending a parents’ evening should have been a thing of the past, but life had ricocheted off in an unexpected direction when Ellie was born.

It was damp and starting to get dark by the time she pulled into the school car park. She’d promised to meet Nathan outside the main entrance at five o’clock and she was already five minutes late.

There was no sign of him as she ran towards the school. He must have gone inside already. Pushing through the revolving glass door, Isabel dashed down the central corridor towards Ellie’s form room. Nathan was waiting outside.

‘I didn’t think you were going to make it,’ he said.

‘Sorry. Something came up. You know what it’s like.’

‘You should have taken the afternoon off. They owe you enough hours.’

Isabel pressed her shoulder against a wooden locker and smiled. ‘It’s not always possible, as well you know.’

A door opened behind them and Ellie’s form teacher, Miss Powell, beckoned them into the classroom.

They sat down and listened as the teacher began to deliver her verdict on how their fourteen-year-old daughter was doing in her lessons.

‘Ellie is highly intelligent, self-assured, eloquent …’

Nathan was unable to contain a grin.

‘However …’

Nathan’s smile evaporated.

‘Although Ellie is extremely capable, I’m concerned about her recent behaviour. She used to be a model pupil, but she’s been acting very negatively since the beginning of term. She’s become argumentative and she wastes a lot of time messing around with her friends.’ The teacher paused to let her words sink in. There was a note of frustration in her voice as she continued. ‘She’s studying for her GCSEs now and she really needs to take her schoolwork more seriously, otherwise she’ll fall behind. So far this term, she’s handed homework in late on five separate occasions and she’s not engaging in class like she used to. More worryingly, she’s been turning up late for school in the mornings.’

‘Late?’ Isabel leaned forward, a sense of unease rippling somewhere beneath her ribs. This didn’t sound like Ellie. Not at all. She’d always been a good kid.

‘She’s been catching the school bus, hasn’t she?’ said Nathan. ‘Perhaps it’s been running late, or she missed it.’

Miss Powell was unswayed by his line of defence. ‘There have been no problems reported with the school buses. Besides, when I spoke to Ellie, she told me she’d been walking to school. That’s fine, of course, if it’s what she wants to do, but the school is a long way from where you live. If she’s going to walk, she needs to set off earlier and get here on time.’

Isabel looked at Nathan, who appeared to be as baffled as she was.

‘We had no idea she was walking to school,’ Isabel said. ‘We’ll ask her about it.’

‘Perhaps you could also find out why she’s stopped coming to the after-school book club,’ Miss Powell added.

Inexplicably, it was this final revelation that shocked Isabel the most. Ellie’s love of books was legendary. The possibility that her love affair with literature might be over prematurely saddened Isabel inordinately.

‘She still does plenty of reading at home,’ Nathan said.

Miss Powell smiled. ‘That’s reassuring to hear, but I’m worried that Ellie is losing interest in her work here, at school. I’m disappointed. She could do so much better.’

‘We’ll talk to her … find out what’s wrong. Won’t we, Nathan?’

Although Nathan nodded supportively, Isabel knew that she would be the one who would have to deliver the reprimand. As far as her husband was concerned, their youngest child could do no wrong – and nothing the teacher said would change his opinion.

Having delivered the negative elements of Ellie’s report, Miss Powell allowed herself a tight smile. ‘There is one subject in which Ellie has been excelling …’

Nathan nudged Isabel and winked.

‘Her art tutor is very impressed with the work she’s been producing.’ The teacher picked up the written report and read from it. ‘He says … Ellie is creative and talented and has a natural gift.’

‘She gets that from me,’ said Nathan.

Isabel gave him a sideways glance and focused her attention back on the teacher.

Miss Powell put down the report and leaned back. ‘There’s an exhibition of artwork in the main hall,’ she told them. ‘Please take a look on your way out. Several of Ellie’s pieces are on show.’

Isabel had switched her phone to silent, but she felt it vibrate in her pocket. Pulling it out, she glanced down at the screen. It was her colleague Dan Fairfax, her sergeant. He knew where she was. He wouldn’t be ringing unless it was important.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Isabel stood up. ‘Technically I’m still on duty, so I need to take this.’

She answered the call on her way out of the classroom. ‘This had better be important, Dan.’

‘It is, boss. I wouldn’t disturb you otherwise. We’ve had word that a body’s been found. I thought you’d want to know.’

Nathan had followed her out into the corridor clutching a printed copy of Ellie’s report.

‘Hang on, Dan. I need to have a quick word with Nathan.’ Isabel turned to her husband. ‘There’s a body. I have to go.’

‘Can you spare a couple of minutes to look at Ellie’s artwork on your way out?’

‘I’d rather not rush it,’ she said, shame clawing at her conscience.

Nathan sighed, disappointed. Over the years, he had reluctantly accepted that sometimes her job had to take priority over family commitments. It was a regrettable reality they’d both come to terms with, but that didn’t stop Isabel feeling guilty. Occasionally, being a good copper meant being a bad parent, or a rubbish wife. Mostly, Isabel loved her job, but there were times when she hated the way it screwed with her life.

‘It’s better if I come back another time and have a proper look,’ she said, suppressing a flush of self-reproach. ‘Sorry, Nathan. I’m needed urgently.’

She planted a swift kiss on his cheek before hurrying back along the main corridor towards the exit, the phone clasped to her ear.

‘I’m on my way, Dan. Tell me where I need to be and I’ll meet you there.’

‘The property’s on Ecclesdale Drive. Number 23,’ Dan said. ‘It’s on that big, sprawling estate on the eastern side of town. Head for Winster Street and then turn left—’

‘It’s OK.’ She cut him off. ‘I know where it is.’

Isabel didn’t need directions. She knew it well.

***

Ecclesdale Drive sliced through the centre of a housing estate that had sprung up in the early 1960s and had grown every decade since. The outlying fields that Isabel remembered from childhood had burgeoned into a confusing network of streets and cul-de-sacs, each one crammed with showy red-brick properties.

The houses in the original part of the estate were plainer, but built on bigger plots, with long gardens filled with well-established trees and shrubs. Isabel turned onto Winster Street, driving past the recreation ground she’d visited frequently as a child. The old slide was still there, as well as a vast climbing frame and a new set of swings. The flat wooden roundabout the local kids had called the ‘teapot lid’ had been removed on safety grounds in the 1970s, as had the conical swing that had been shaped like a witch’s hat. Isabel smiled as she recalled the wild, spinning rides she had taken on that pivoted swing.

She took the second left into Ecclesdale Drive. The street was long and crescent-shaped, curving down towards an infant school and the newsagent’s shop at the end. It was years since Isabel had been here. Ecclesdale Drive held lots of memories, but not all of them were good.

She pulled up behind two police vehicles that were parked halfway along the road. Her hand trembled as she switched off the engine, her fingers quivering involuntarily like the blue-and-white police tape that was fluttering around the outer cordon of the crime scene. Battling a growing wave of unease, Isabel took a deep breath and got out of the car.

Chapter 3

She stood for a moment and looked up at number 23. It was one of a long row of identical detached properties of boring 1960s architecture. Like a child’s drawing of a house, its pointed eaves faced the road and a chimney protruded from the left-hand side of the roof. The front of the house had originally consisted of three windows and a door, but at some stage over the last couple of decades, someone had added a small porch extension.

Isabel went to the boot of her car and retrieved a pair of blue latex gloves and overshoes. Suitably protected, she walked to the edge of the temporary barrier where a uniformed officer was standing.

‘Evening ma’am,’ he said as she showed him her warrant card. ‘It’s round the back. DS Fairfax is here already.’

She stepped onto the front path and ducked under the inner cordon before unlatching the side gate at the end of the driveway. At the back of the house, she passed a pale-faced young couple who were gazing out from the dining-room window. DS Daniel Fairfax was standing in the garden with his arms folded, next to a set of lights that were illuminating an area of ground directly behind the property’s brick-built garage.

Isabel pulled up the zip of her coat to fend off a chill that was wrapping itself around her neck. ‘OK, Danny boy,’ she said. ‘What have we got?’

‘Human remains,’ he said. ‘The new owners came across them when they were digging out foundations for a kitchen extension.’

Her chest tightened. ‘Human remains? I thought you said there was a body.’

‘That’s what the duty officer told me initially,’ he said. ‘When I got here, I realised the body had been in the ground for quite a while.’

Isabel forced herself to breathe slowly to fend off a rush of nausea. ‘When you say “a while”, how long do you mean?’

‘I don’t know yet, boss. You’ll have to ask Raveen.’

Raveen Talwar was kneeling a few feet away at the edge of a half-dug trench. Isabel was glad it was Raveen. He was consistently polite and helpful, and one of the best crime scene investigators she had worked with. He dealt efficiently and graciously with questions, but he could be brash if he thought someone was trying to step on his overshoed toes. Whenever he worked a crime scene, he had a grating habit of crunching mints, the hard-boiled variety. He devoured them nonstop, even through the longest of examinations.

Despite his penchant for mints, there was something agreeable and reassuring about having Raveen around. Everyone liked him. His popularity was such that, when his wife had recently given birth to a boy, the CID team had taken the unusual step of clubbing together for a baby gift.

Isabel stumbled towards him on legs that wobbled, as though they were made of elastic. ‘What can you tell me, Raveen?’ she said.

He looked up. ‘Are you OK? You look pale.’

‘I’m fine,’ she replied. ‘Just tell me what you know.’

‘Nothing certain at this stage, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘Any soft tissue is long gone, but these definitely aren’t bones of antiquity. If you’re going to force me to guess – which I know you are – I’d say the body has been here for at least twenty years, but it could have been in the ground much longer.’

‘How much longer?’ Her heart was pounding and she was aware that her voice was cracking treacherously.

‘It’s too early to say. The skeleton is only partially exposed. I’ll be able to tell you more when it’s been fully uncovered and removed. Don’t push me into making a rash assessment. I need to have a proper look.’

Isabel tried hard to hide her exasperation. ‘Come on, Raveen. Don’t be coy. You must be able to tell me something.’ She shifted impatiently. ‘I won’t hold it against you if you get it wrong, but I need to know. Please. How long? It’s important.’

Raveen stood up and narrowed his eyes. ‘I’d estimate the body has been here somewhere between twenty and forty years, give or take a few years.’

Isabel’s stomach reeled. Hiding her shaking hands in the pockets of her coat, she walked along the edge of the muddy trench and looked down – but instead of seeing human bones, her vision blurred and a creeping black mist began to close in, threatening to shut her down.

‘We’ve also found a partial dental plate,’ Raveen said. ‘It might help us to establish a more accurate timeframe.’

His voice was coming to her as if from a distance, his words muffled and distorted. Lurching away from the trench, Isabel went over to the rear wall of the garage and leaned against it. Blood rushed in her ears and she took a series of deep breaths to clear her head.

Dan was observing her closely, his brown eyes watchful. ‘You all right, boss? I didn’t have you down as someone who would get queasy over a bunch of bones. I’d have thought you’d seen way worse than this.’ A half-smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he took in her obvious discomfort.

‘If you don’t mind, Dan, I’m going to stand down and let you take over for now, while I put in a call to the Super.’

‘OK …’ His forehead creased into a frown. ‘Was it something I said? I was only joking about the bones, you know.’

Isabel chose to ignore his wisecrack. ‘Will you be all right picking up the questioning?’ she asked.

Dan nodded confidently, but his expression wavered as he clocked the serious expression on her face.

‘Is there a problem?’ said Raveen.

‘Possibly,’ Isabel said. She was clenching her fingers so tightly, her nails were digging into her palms. ‘You see, I grew up in this house. Forty-one years ago, I lived here with my parents.’

Chapter 4

Isabel walked away from the crime scene with a torrent of questions sloshing around in her head. One in particular was vying for attention. Could it be him? Was it possible?

She reached the side gate on legs that felt so watery and weak she wasn’t sure they would take her the short distance back to the car. She paused to look back at Dan, fending off a stab of guilt for abandoning him. Left in charge, he seemed tense and uncertain. Raveen stood next to him, deep in thought.

‘Before I go,’ Isabel said, ‘can you tell me whether the body is male or female?’

Raveen nodded. ‘Based on what I can see of the skull, I’d say male.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘The slope of the forehead, the prominence of the supraorbital ridges and the shape of the eye sockets are all consistent with a male skull. So, yes, I’m pretty certain. I’ll be able to confirm it when I’ve had an opportunity to examine the rest of the bones.’

‘Can you tell how old he was?’

‘Definitely an adult, but age, as yet, is undetermined.’

‘OK. Thanks.’ She paused to regain control and, pointing to Dan, said, ‘Don’t forget. Make sure everything is recorded correctly. Log all decisions, actions and information.’

With clumsy fingers, she fumbled with the latch on the gate. It was stiff and clunked loudly when it eventually lifted. As she returned to her Toyota and climbed into the driver’s seat, a pair of curtains twitched at the downstairs window of the house next door. Some things never changed.

The car’s interior was warm and stifling. Isabel leaned her head on the steering wheel, closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. I have to know, she thought. I need to find out one way or another.

Reaching for her phone, she scrolled through the contacts stored alphabetically, stopping at the name of the only person who could answer the question that was burning a hole in her brain.

Her finger hovered over the name on the screen. All she had to do was ask one question. The answer she received would either put her mind at rest or plunge her into a deep pit of despair – but anything was better than not knowing.

Before she had a chance to make the call, her phone began to ring. The incoming caller was Detective Superintendent Valerie Tibbet.

‘DI Blood? What’s the situation?’

Isabel closed her eyes. ‘We have a body. The site’s been cordoned off and we’re treating it as a crime scene … but there’s a complication.’

‘What kind of complication?’

‘The house where the victim was found,’ Isabel said. ‘I used to live there. A long time ago.’

‘Right. Well, you’ll need to disclose your connection to the address during any future prosecution case, but there’s no reason why you can’t carry on as SIO.’

‘The problem is, the timeframe’s unclear,’ she said. ‘Forensics estimate the body’s been there for between twenty and forty years, possibly even longer.’

‘I see. And does that coincide with your time in the house?’

‘Potentially. My mother sold up in 1978.’

‘Do you have any reason to believe the body was buried while your family lived at the address?’

This was it. The moment of truth: the point at which she should tell the Super everything. Except there wasn’t much to tell, was there? Just an old story with an unknown ending. Best to say nothing – at least for now.

‘No, of course not. I’m trying to do everything by the book, that’s all. There’s no escaping the fact that the address is linked to me and I don’t want to jeopardise the enquiry. It’s best that I stand down pending confirmation of the timescales. In the meantime, Dan’s in charge at the scene.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Val. ‘That seems sensible, given the circumstances. When we’ve got a better idea of the timeframe and any overlap with your family’s occupancy of the house has been ruled out, you can re-join the investigation. In the meantime, I’ll find someone to take over as SIO. For now I’ll have to trust DS Fairfax to make the initial enquiries.’

‘I have every faith in Dan,’ Isabel said. ‘He’s very capable.’

‘Has he been involved in this kind of investigation before?’

Isabel sighed. ‘Not that I know of, but this will be good experience for him. He needs to start taking on more responsibility.’

‘Is that a problem with him? Is he shirking?’

Isabel rubbed her forehead. ‘No, Val. That’s not what I meant. Dan’s a good detective, but he needs to believe in himself. This case will help boost his confidence.’

‘OK, if you’re sure. I’ll give him a call and have a word. I’ll ask him to keep me updated for now and I’ll get back in touch with you as soon as I hear anything.’

Isabel ended the call, started the car and drove home through the rush-hour traffic.

Chapter 5

A month ago, when Dan had joined DI Blood’s team, everyone had warned him that she was a stickler for procedures, so her swift retreat based on a decades-old connection to the house came as no great surprise. What did puzzle him was her physical response to the crime scene. Dan was aware she’d worked some pretty gory cases in the past, so he was fairly certain she wasn’t squeamish – but her face had definitely looked pale, unnaturally so. What was that all about? She’d done her best to hide it, but something was bothering her. He felt sure of it.

It was all a bit weird. He could understand his boss’s desire to do the right thing, but he was also pissed off that she hadn’t given him a few more pointers before buggering off. As it was, she’d dropped him right in it. He hadn’t been involved in an investigation involving human skeletal remains before and now, here he was, seemingly in charge of the scene.

Left to his own devices, Dan decided to begin his enquiries by talking to the owners of the house. Leaving Raveen and his team to their forensic examination, he went round to the front of the house and rapped on the door.

A woman of about thirty answered. Her dark brown hair, pale skin and wide cheekbones gave her face an exotic look.

‘I’m DS Dan Fairfax.’ He flipped open his ID wallet. ‘I need to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right?’

The woman nodded. ‘Yes, of course. I’m Amy Whitworth. Come in.’

She led him into the kitchen, where a man was perched on a stool at an old-fashioned breakfast bar, his hands wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee.

‘This is my brother, Paul.’

‘Your brother? Right. Sorry, I assumed you were … you know … a couple.’

Amy smiled. ‘No. We’re brother and sister. Twins actually.’

Other than the colour of their hair and eyes, Dan could detect little resemblance between the siblings, although the comparison was somewhat hindered by the enormous hipster beard that dominated the lower half of Paul Whitworth’s face.

‘But you’re joint owners of the house?’

‘Yes.’ Amy nodded. ‘Our father died last year and left us some money. This is our first foray into property development, isn’t it, Paul?’

‘It could well be our last if the whole thing goes tits up.’ Paul Whitworth seemed tetchy and disillusioned.

‘You’ll have to excuse my brother, Detective. Finding a skeleton in the back garden has come as a shock.’

‘That’s understandable,’ Dan said. He pulled a notebook from his pocket. ‘Can I ask how long you’ve owned the house?’

‘We bought it at auction and got the keys eight weeks ago,’ Paul told him.

‘And yet you’ve only recently started work on the extension? I thought property developers liked to turn things around quickly. Get the work done, sell the house and make some fast money.’

‘That’s the general idea,’ Paul said, ‘but we had to wait for planning permission to come through.’

‘What can you tell me about the previous owner?’

‘We never met her,’ Amy replied. ‘We were told she was an elderly widow who’d gone to live in a residential home. Her son auctioned off the house to get a quick sale.’

‘Do you recall her name?’

Paul shrugged. ‘Can’t say that I do. Our solicitor will have all the details.’

‘I think it was Repton,’ Amy said. ‘Rhoda Repton.’

Dan made a note of the name. ‘And have you any idea how long she’d lived here?’

‘No. Sorry. You could check with the neighbours though. They might be able to tell you.’

‘Someone’s doing that right now.’ Dan smiled. ‘Tell me, when you got the keys, had the house been cleared? Was it completely empty?’

Paul and Amy exchanged smiles.

‘As it happens, we had to get rid of a lot of furniture and other stuff that had been left behind,’ Paul said. ‘It was a right load of old tat – even the charity shops didn’t want it. We took everything down to the tip in my van.’

‘Was there anything unusual or out of place? Anything that seemed odd? Something hidden away?’

‘Not that we noticed,’ Paul said. ‘It was the sort of stuff you’d expect to find … a few clothes had been left in one of the wardrobes, and there were some old magazines and newspapers … a crappy framed picture. An old rug. Nothing much else.’

‘I finished clearing the pantry this afternoon,’ Amy said. ‘There was all sorts of junk in there. Tins of food, cereals, jars, old pans and utensils. I put everything in the dustbin at the side of the house.’

‘But nothing out of the ordinary?’ Dan wasn’t sure what he had hoped to hear. The discovery of a decades-old blood-stained knife perhaps, or a bottle labelled ‘poison’ hidden away behind a can of mushy peas.

‘I think the family took away anything of value and left the rubbish for us to dispose of,’ Paul said.

‘You didn’t come across any letters or bills?’ said Dan, knowing he was grasping at straws. ‘No correspondence of any kind?’

‘There was an old bureau in the hallway,’ Paul replied, ‘but it was empty.’

‘OK. Well if you think of anything, let me know.’ Dan handed them a card with his telephone number on it. ‘I’ll get someone to come in and take a statement from you in a few minutes.’

‘Do you know how long those guys are going to be out there?’ Paul nodded towards the forensics team whose white scene suits stood out, ghost-like, in the dark garden.

‘The remains you found have been confirmed as human,’ Dan said. ‘The body was buried recently enough to warrant a forensic and police investigation, so we’ll need to do a thorough search of the site. It’ll be a while yet. Several days, I would imagine, but we’ll let you know as soon as they’ve finished. In the meantime, I’m afraid your back garden is off limits.’

***

As Dan let himself out of the front door of the house, he ran into the uniformed officer who’d been tasked with speaking to nearby residents.

‘Any joy with the neighbours? Learn anything interesting?’

‘Not so far,’ the officer replied. ‘The family at number 21 only moved in three months ago, so they didn’t know the previous owner. I wasn’t able to get an answer at number 25. I’m going to try across the road next.’

‘OK, keep me informed. Someone must be able to tell us something useful.’

As he watched the officer weave around the parked vehicles and cross the road, Dan pulled out his phone and rang the office. He needed some background information and if there was one person he could rely on to pull everything together quickly, it was DC Zoe Piper.

‘Zoe,’ he said when his colleague answered, ‘I need you to run some checks for me.’

‘No problem.’ She sounded remarkably perky for someone who was working the late shift. ‘What do you need?’

‘Find out who’s owned or lived at 23 Ecclesdale Drive over the last forty-five years. Can you also check whether the address is linked to any reported incidents … domestic violence, mispers … or whether there’s any criminal activity associated with anyone who’s lived there. Let me know as soon as you find anything.’

‘Consider it done,’ Zoe said.

As he ended the call and strolled back to the rear of the house, Dan marvelled at the way Zoe always managed to sound so upbeat. He suspected her positive attitude was driven by ambition and a desire to make the right impression, but maybe that was unfair. Perhaps she just had a naturally optimistic view on life and work.

He noticed a light go on in the kitchen at number 25, and the silhouette of a person began to move around inside. It was obvious someone was at home, so why hadn’t they answered the door when the uniform had knocked?

A yawning Raveen ambled over and stood next to him.

‘You look knackered,’ Dan said.

‘The baby’s keeping us awake,’ Raveen replied. ‘I’m hoping he’ll start to sleep through soon, but at the moment the little tyke only seems able to manage a few hours at a stretch.’

Dan held up his hands. ‘Don’t expect any advice from me. I know absolutely nothing about babies, and I hope it stays that way … for a few years, at least.’

Raveen grinned. ‘We’ll be taking the skeleton away shortly, but I thought you’d appreciate a quick update. The remains are definitely male, and there are signs of bone spurs around the knees, which suggests he was suffering from osteoarthritis. We’ve also found a cigarette lighter. I’ll clean it up when I get back and let you know if it can tell us anything.’

‘In a perfect world it would be inscribed with the victim’s name and date of birth.’

Raveen laughed. ‘As we both know, there’s no such thing as a perfect world. A good thing too, otherwise you and I would be out of a job.’

Dan smirked. ‘Keep me posted, Raveen. Zoe’s doing some checks back in the office … hopefully she’ll find something that will help with an ID. I’m going to nip next door and have a word with the neighbours. Perhaps they can shed some light on who these bones belong to.’

***

Dan looked up at number 25 and the house peered back at him through dark, grubby windows. Its architecture was identical to the other houses on the street, but its shabbiness made it stand out from the rest. Unlike number 23, it didn’t look as if it would be getting a makeover any time soon. The wooden window frames were poorly maintained, with shrivelled putty and peeling paint, and moss was growing in the cracks on the concrete driveway.

His knock on the front door went unanswered, so he wandered around to the back of the house and peered through the kitchen window. A silver-haired woman was standing at an old-fashioned oven, cooking something on an eye-level grill. She jumped when he knocked on the window.

Dan heard the rattle of a security chain sliding into place. The door opened marginally and the woman squinted suspiciously at the warrant card he held in front of her.

‘I’m DS Dan Fairfax, I wonder if I could have a word?’

‘You’d better come in.’ She closed the door again to slide off the chain and then opened it wide, allowing Dan to step into the kitchen.

‘I saw the police cars and wondered whether someone would be round to talk to me.’

‘A police officer did knock a while back,’ Dan said, ‘but there was no reply.’

She shrugged. ‘I’m a bit deaf. I’m supposed to wear hearing aids, but I can’t get on with them. They keep whistling.’

She was grilling kippers. The smoked, fishy smell was unmistakable.

‘Were you about to eat? I can come back in half an hour or so if you’d prefer.’

‘It’s all right.’ She turned off the grill and led Dan through to the living room. ‘I can always warm them through again when you’ve gone.’

‘Do you live on your own, Mrs …?’

‘Littlewood. Joyce Littlewood.’ She sat down in a winged armchair that faced a huge widescreen television. ‘My son lives with me, but he’s at work. He does shifts over at a distribution centre near Matlock.’

‘And have you lived here long?’

‘Since the house was built. Me and my late husband moved here in 1963.’

‘Wow! That’s a long time ago. I imagine you must have got to know everyone who’s lived at number 23 over the years.’

‘Some better than others,’ Joyce Littlewood replied.

Dan could see that she was weighing him up, gauging whether to trust him.

‘Rhoda was a nice lady,’ Joyce continued. ‘Rhoda Repton. She left last year. Went into a care home somewhere near to where her son lives. Wirksworth way, I think.’

‘The couple that have bought number 23 are building an extension at the back,’ Dan explained. ‘They’ve uncovered some skeletal remains in the garden … human remains … which is why the police were called.’

Joyce pursed her lips. ‘I thought it must be something like that,’ she said. ‘I’ve been looking out of the back bedroom and I spotted the people in white suits. I couldn’t see what they were doing, but I knew it had to be serious. I have to say, it’s not the sort of thing you expect to see when you look out of your window.’

‘They should be finished in a few hours,’ Dan told her. ‘At least for today.’

Joyce tilted her head inquisitively. ‘Is it Celia?’

‘Is what Celia?’

‘The bones. I always thought something bad must have happened to her.’

‘Who’s Celia, Mrs Littlewood? And why do you think something might have happened to her?’

Chapter 6

‘Celia Aspen,’ Joyce Littlewood said. ‘She lived next door. Took off one day in 1986 and hasn’t been seen since. Her disappearance was reported to the police, so you’ll have it all on record. I’m quite willing to tell you what I know about it, but it could take a while, so you’ll have to listen while I eat my tea. Hang on two ticks and I’ll be back in with a tray. Shall we have a cup of tea as well? Or coffee, if you prefer it.’

Dan knew that a shared cuppa was often the best way to get people talking – the older ones at least. ‘I’ll have tea please. White, one sugar.’

As Mrs Littlewood pottered in the kitchen, Dan prowled around the living room, examining the collection of framed photographs on the mantelpiece. They showed three children at various stages of their lives – two boys and a girl, all of whom had inherited their mother’s beaky nose and wide blue eyes. There was also a more modern studio shot which he guessed was of Mrs Littlewood’s grandchildren. The distinctive facial features seemed to have continued down the line to the latest generation.

On the teak coffee table next to her chair was a pair of knitting needles that held a partially completed cable-patterned cricket sweater. Behind the chair was a corner cupboard full of the same type of Royal Crown Derby china that Dan’s own gran collected. Imari pattern. A dense dark blue and red design, finished off with gold. Definitely not Dan’s thing at all.

When Joyce came back, she was carrying a tray containing a pot of tea, a milk jug, sugar bowl and two china cups. The crockery wasn’t as grand as Crown Derby, but posh enough to make Dan feel he should crook his little finger as he drank.

He sat on the sofa and sipped his tea while Joyce scurried back to the kitchen. She returned with a plate of kippers and another piled high with bread and butter.

‘It helps the fish bones to go down,’ she said, when she saw Dan eyeing up the excessive quantity of bread. ‘Now, tell me, young man, what is it you need to know?’

‘What year did Celia Aspen move in next door? Can you remember?’

‘What?’ Joyce cupped her ear. ‘Speak up.’

‘Can you remember when Celia moved in?’

‘Of course I can. I may be old and hard of hearing, but there’s nothing wrong with my memory.’

Between mouthfuls, she told Dan what she knew about the history of the house next door.

‘Now … the Corringtons. They lived there until 1978 – lovely family – I was sorry to see them go.’

That must have been the DI’s family, Dan thought. Sounds as though they got on well enough with the Littlewoods.

‘A young couple moved in after the Corringtons,’ Joyce continued. ‘Davidson or Davison … something like that. They seemed nice enough, but I didn’t get to know them very well. They’d only been living there a year when she ran off with another bloke. They sold up and got a divorce.

‘It must have been the autumn of 1979 when Celia Aspen bought the house. She was all right I suppose, but she did have rather a superiority complex. She was pernickety; always very careful about her appearance … never went anywhere without make-up and a touch of lippy. A bit up herself, if you know what I mean. Quiet and reserved, but a decent enough neighbour … at least in the beginning.’

‘Did something happen to change your opinion of her?’

Joyce stirred her tea. ‘It’s all water under the bridge now, of course. I don’t want to speak out of turn …’

Dan waited.

‘It was her attitude to my youngest son that I didn’t like. Timothy got on well with Celia to start with. In fact, she was patient with him at a time when others weren’t so kind. Timothy did odd jobs for her … mowing the lawn and so on, but I put a stop to that after a while.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Celia had a niece called Julie Desmond. She was a cocky sort. Absolutely full of herself, if you ask me. She was three years older than Timothy, and he was in awe of her. Celia reckoned that Timothy was making a nuisance of himself … accused him of following Julie around and saying things that were inappropriate.’

‘And was he?’

‘Was he heck as like. Timothy may have been different to other lads his age, but he wasn’t stupid. He has autism spectrum disorder, so he can be clumsy … socially, I mean. He talks too much sometimes and goes on about stuff that isn’t relevant to the conversation you’re having with him – but he’s kind and hard-working and a good son. He did like Julie, fancied her even … but he was never a pest.’

‘Is that what Celia Aspen accused him of being? A pest?’

‘Not in so many words, but it was what she inferred. Timothy stopped going round there after that and things became rather frosty between Celia and me. It was a shame, but no one criticises my son and gets away with it.’

It was obvious that Joyce Littlewood was a devoted mother-hen and Dan had no doubt she would be quick to defend her chicks.

She was proving to be a great source of information, but he couldn’t help comparing her narrative to the complicated pattern of the pullover she was knitting. He needed to take back control of the conversation … unpick it, otherwise he’d be here all night.

‘Mrs Littlewood, can I ask you to backtrack a little? What can you tell me about Celia Aspen?’

She pulled a couple of bones from her kipper and placed them on the side of her plate. ‘I can’t tell you very much at all. I know that may sound odd when you consider I lived next door to her for over seven years, but she was a very self-contained sort of person. She hardly ever talked about herself and she certainly didn’t encourage anyone to ask questions. She had this way of letting you know if she thought you’d overstepped the boundaries. She’d narrow her eyes and glare. It was her way of telling you to back off.’

‘Do you know how old she was?’

‘Not very old. Late sixties I would say.’

Dan smiled.

‘I can see you grinning, young man.’ She laughed. ‘Late sixties may seem ancient to you, but you’ll change your mind when you reach that age yourself.’

‘Was Celia married?’ Dan asked. ‘What was her background?’

‘She never married, although I got the impression there had been a romance once … during the war. She was retired, but for years she’d been the Head of Fashion at Bradshaw and Trent.’

Dan arched an eyebrow involuntarily and Joyce laughed before continuing.

‘It was a small department store in Derby,’ she said. ‘It closed down years ago, not long after Celia moved to Bainbridge. She was made redundant and I believe she may have used her severance pay to buy the house next door, but I don’t know that for certain. To be perfectly honest, there’s not a lot else I can tell you about Celia. She kept herself to herself. She was an odd one really. She was usually polite and could be quite friendly when she wanted to be, but if she did talk to you, it tended to be about neutral subjects … the weather or her garden.’

‘Did she have many visitors?’

‘No,’ Joyce said, the skin on her neck quivering as she shook her head. ‘Her niece used to call round about once a fortnight. As far as I know, Julie was her only relative.’

‘No friends?’ Dan turned to a new page in his notebook and looked at Joyce expectantly. ‘A boyfriend maybe?’

Joyce dismissed that idea with a brief flick of her hand. ‘I don’t think Celia had many friends, male or otherwise. If she did, she wouldn’t have invited them round. She wasn’t one for having people in her house. Timothy went inside occasionally if there was a job needed doing, but she kept me at the door if I went to see her. Not that I went round there very often.’

She drained her tea cup.

‘As far as I can recall, she only ever had one male visitor. I remember it because it was such an unusual occurrence.’

‘Do you know who it was?’ Dan asked.

‘No, haven’t a clue. I was out in the back one day, hanging out washing, and I saw them over the fence. Celia was showing him her garden.’

‘When was this?’

Joyce tapped the side of her head as if to dislodge a long-forgotten memory. ‘It must have been the spring of 1986, about a month before Celia disappeared.’

‘And you have no idea who her visitor was?’

She shook her head again. ‘We weren’t introduced. I did wave and say hello, but I don’t think Celia was in the mood for idle chatter. When she saw me she tried to usher the man inside. I could tell she didn’t want me talking to him.’

‘So you didn’t speak to this bloke at all?’

‘Hold your horses, I didn’t say that.’ Joyce grinned. ‘I don’t appreciate being snubbed, so I ambled over to the fence and spoke to him directly – more to wind Celia up than anything else.’

If Celia Aspen was as reserved as Joyce Littlewood says, having a nosy neighbour must have been a right pain in the jacksy, Dan thought. To him, however, Joyce was a gift. She had a huge store of knowledge tucked away in her head, although it was clear he’d have his work cut out, teasing it out of her.

‘What did you say to him, Mrs Littlewood?’

Joyce paused, as though replaying the scene in her head. ‘When I heard him chatting to Celia, I thought I detected an American accent, so I asked him if he was from the United States.’

‘And was he?’

‘No. He said he’d lived in Canada since the late Forties, but he was originally from Nottingham. He’d come over to stay with his sister’s family and he’d decided to look Celia up and pay her a visit. Apparently they knew each other when they were young.’

Dan was holding his pencil like a baton, using it to conduct the steady to-and-fro rhythm of the conversation.

‘He said that?’

‘Yes.’ Joyce leaned back. ‘That’s what he told me.’

‘Do you think he might have been Celia’s old flame?’

She thought about it for a moment. ‘Possibly, but there was no way for me to find out because she whisked him back inside PDQ. It was obvious she didn’t want me poking my nose in. Our relationship had already cooled by then, but things got even frostier after that.’

Dan’s gut was telling him that the information Joyce Littlewood was divulging was connected in some way to the bones discovered next door. He just wasn’t sure how.

‘You say that Celia went missing in 1986?’

‘That’s right. The last time I saw her was in early May, although Timothy saw her a couple of times after that.’

Dan put down his pencil, slowing the pace of their exchange.

‘Did Celia tell you she was going away?’

‘No, but she and I weren’t exactly on friendly terms, so why would she?’

He tried to conjure up a set of circumstances in which Celia Aspen had killed someone, disposed of the victim in her own back garden, and then done a runner – but the whole scenario seemed implausible. Something had happened next door, but what? And why? And how did Celia Aspen’s disappearance fit in to the picture?

‘Anyway, it looks very much as though Celia didn’t go anywhere.’ Joyce stared at him expectantly. ‘I’m guessing that’s who you’ve found in the back garden?’

‘We don’t know who it is yet,’ Dan said, deciding not to disclose the sex of the unidentified skeleton at this early stage in the investigation. ‘Is there any particular reason you think it could be Celia Aspen?’

‘Well, it’s got to be more than a coincidence, hasn’t it? Celia went missing and now you’ve found a body. It would certainly explain what happened to her. I always found it hard to believe she’d clear off without a backward glance, leaving her house and her precious garden behind. Unless, of course …’ Joyce sat up, her eyes gleaming.

‘Unless what?’

‘She ran away because she’d killed someone. Flipping heck! Do you think that’s what happened?’

‘We don’t know, Mrs Littlewood, but we’re going to do our best to find out.’

‘I’ll tell you something for nothing …’ She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. ‘If she is still around, Celia Aspen will be about a hundred by now.’

‘In that case, I think it’s unlikely she’s still alive.’ Dan stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Littlewood. You’ve been very helpful. I might need to talk to you again at some point, but I’ll let you get on with your evening for now.’ He handed her a card. ‘If you think of anything else that might be relevant to our enquiries, please give me a call on that number.’

His phone began to ring as he left the house. It was Zoe.

‘Let me guess,’ Dan said. ‘You’re ringing to tell me about Celia Aspen who moved to 23 Ecclesdale Drive in 1979 and was reported missing in 1986. Am I right?’

‘You already know? How did you find out?’

He grinned. ‘I’m a detective, Zoe. It’s my job.’

Chapter 7

Isabel turned into her driveway at the same time as a pizza delivery bike was pulling away.

She found Nathan in the kitchen, pouring a glass of red wine.

‘Blimey,’ he said. ‘That was quick.’

She shuddered. ‘It’s a long story. Pour me a glass of wine and I’ll tell you about it.’

A pair of French doors led from the kitchen into a garden room at the back of the house. Ellie was in there, stretched out on the sofa in front of the log burner. She was watching television and stuffing her face with a slice of Margherita, seemingly oblivious to the backlash over her school report.

Compared to the maelstrom of worry set in motion by the discovery at Ecclesdale Drive, Isabel’s concerns over the school report seemed trivial now – but that didn’t mean Ellie should get off scot‑free. Her behaviour was probably nothing more than a teenage blip, but it had to be addressed. Steeling herself for confrontation, Isabel straightened her shoulders and wandered into the garden room.

‘When your brother and sister were your age, a pizza delivery was considered a treat. From what we’ve heard from your teacher, that’s the last thing you deserve.’

Ellie lifted one shoulder. ‘Dad got pizza to cheer me up.’

‘Did he now?’ Isabel turned to Nathan, who had come up behind her with a large glass of wine in his hand. ‘After listening to your teacher this afternoon, I think your dad and I are the ones that need cheering up.’

Frowning, Ellie reached for the TV remote and turned up the volume. ‘Miss Powell’s a cow,’ she said. ‘She’s hard on everyone.’

Isabel took the remote control from her daughter and switched off the television.

‘Listen up, young lady. You need to pull your socks up. You’re clever and capable, but from what I’ve heard today, you’re wasting your talent. Turning up late for school and being argumentative with your teachers is not acceptable. Do you understand? We need to have a serious talk about this, but not tonight. For now I suggest you take your pizza upstairs and eat it while you do your homework. As of tomorrow, one of us will be dropping you off at school and I’ll be checking with the teachers to make sure you hand your assignments in on time.’

Ellie scowled and, snatching up the pizza box, stormed out of the room. Isabel sank onto the sofa she had vacated.

‘I take it this new school run will fall to me?’ Nathan said, as they listened to the sound of footsteps thudding up the stairs and across the landing, followed by the slam of a door. ‘You’re too hard on her, you know. You measure her behaviour by what you did when you were her age. Life’s different now. As older parents, we have to accept that.’

Isabel tried not to think of herself as an older parent. Discovering that she was pregnant again at the age of forty-one had hit her like a lightning strike. She’d assumed her child-rearing days were behind her: the prospect of going through it all again had been crushing. Nathan had been a lot more philosophical. He’d likened the arrival of another baby in their lives to a googly; a curve ball. Fate threw one at you sometimes, he said.

Isabel accepted the wine Nathan held out to her. ‘Ellie’s sudden aversion to school has nothing to do with our age,’ she said. ‘She’s getting lazy, that’s what it is. The little madam doesn’t know she’s born. She lives in a nice house in a good neighbourhood and wants for nothing. She has absolutely no reason to misbehave.’

Isabel thought back to her own life when she was fourteen. It was the year her parents had split up and everything fell apart. She felt a spasm of grief as she remembered her dad standing at the front of the house on Ecclesdale Drive, waving reassuringly as Isabel set off on a three-day school trip. When she returned home, it was to the news that he had left without saying goodbye.

His departure had thrust Isabel’s mother into a depression that, for a while at least, rendered her barely able to function as a parent. Left to her own devices, Isabel had clung to the belief that her dad would get in touch once he’d found somewhere new to live. But as the days rolled into months and she heard nothing, the pain of his absence had tightened its grip. His abandonment had left her feeling hollow and bereft. It was as though something vital had been ripped from inside her, leaving an ache that was chronic and incurable. Whenever Isabel thought of that time, a dark curtain of pain wrapped itself around her.

Unable to keep up with the mortgage payments, her mother had been forced to sell the house on Ecclesdale Drive. She and Isabel had moved to a cramped mill cottage in an unfashionable part of town. It was damp and dark, with an overgrown garden that backed onto the railway line.

Isabel swallowed a slug of wine. ‘When I was her age I had all sorts of crap to deal with.’

‘I know you did.’ Nathan sat next to her. ‘But Ellie isn’t like you. She’s growing up in a different century to us. Kids today have different kinds of pressure. All I’m saying is … ease off a little.’

‘Actually, you need to ease off on me.’ She glanced at him sternly. ‘I’ve had one of the worst afternoons I can remember in a long time.’

Nathan put his arm around her and she leaned into him, comforted by his warmth and strength. Even when she didn’t deserve him, Nathan was always there for her, offering a constant supply of love and support.

‘That body they found … it was at my old house – the one I lived in with Mum and Dad.’ She bit her bottom lip to stop it trembling.

He rubbed her shoulder. ‘It’s obviously upset you.’

‘Of course it’s upset me.’ Isabel shivered. ‘I feel as though my earliest memories have been contaminated.’

She closed her eyes to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over, unwilling to give in to her emotions. ‘The body was buried in the back garden and apparently it’s been there for yonks. Anywhere between twenty and forty years.’

‘Crap!’ Nathan sat up as he pieced together the implications of what she’d told him. ‘When did you leave?’

‘January 1978. Three months after Dad walked out. There’s a potential overlap, so I’ve had to stand down from the case for now.’

‘Bloody hell.’ He settled back. ‘You don’t think this has anything to do with your family?’

Isabel kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs onto the sofa. ‘I don’t know what to think. My mind’s all over the place, but I do have a bad feeling. Really bad.’

‘Jeez.’ Nathan reached out and pulled her back into his arms.

‘My worst fear is that it could be him.’ She swiped away an escaping tear. ‘After all, I have no idea what happened, do I?’

Nathan balked. ‘Surely not … there’s no reason for you to think that.’

She pulled back and looked up at him, doing her best to rein in her emotions. ‘I know you mean well, Nathan, but let’s be realistic. Dad walked out in 1977 and I haven’t seen or heard from him since. I think there’s every reason to worry.’

Chapter 8

‘But you don’t have any proof that it’s him?’ Nathan was studying her face. He sat rigidly, the muscles on his neck strained and stiff.

‘The SOCOs found a partial dental plate with the body.’ Isabel tipped her head back to hold in her tears. ‘Dad had a dental plate.’

‘Can they check whether it’s his?’ Nathan asked. ‘What did your boss say?’

‘I haven’t told her. Not about Dad.’

‘Christ, Isabel.’ He rubbed a hand across his chin. ‘Why the hell not?’

‘Because I don’t want to. It’s none of her damned business.’

‘Of course it’s her business.’ He stood up, thrust his hands into his pockets and began to pace. ‘What were you thinking? You need to tell her. It’s not like you to go against procedure.’

‘I’ve informed her about my connection to the house,’ Isabel said, her voice terse and defensive. ‘I offered to stand down immediately … that’s procedure, but I’m not telling Val bleeding Tibbet about my father. Not unless I have to.’

‘But you’re holding back important information. Won’t you get in trouble?’

‘Give me a break, Nathan. I’m hardly going rogue. I’m keeping quiet, that’s all. If there are questions for me once the investigation is underway, I’ll answer them, but I’m not volunteering anything until I have to.’

With his shoulders bent, Nathan continued to pace.

‘For God’s sake, sit down,’ Isabel said. ‘You’re making me nervous.’

Reluctantly, he lowered himself onto the sofa and stretched his legs.

‘I’m relying on the SOCOs to pinpoint when the body was buried,’ she explained, more to reassure herself than to pacify Nathan. ‘It shouldn’t take them long. Hopefully, the timeframe will rule out any connection to my family. This whole thing could be nothing to do with me.’

‘Isn’t that wishful thinking? If there’s any chance the remains could be your father’s, you should speak up. It’s the right thing to do, Isabel. You know it is.’

There was a part of her that agreed with him, but she wasn’t going to admit it. Instead, she swallowed another glug of wine and opted for bravado. ‘I’ve spent most of my career doing the right thing and what good has it done me? Come on, Nathan. Even you’ve got to admit this is an extraordinary situation. I don’t make a habit of breaking the rules … but in this instance I’m willing to bend them if I have to.’

He frowned disapprovingly. ‘So why bother to stand down at all? Why not go the whole hog and ditch the rule book completely? You could have carried on with the investigation.’

‘Don’t think I wasn’t tempted,’ Isabel said, ‘but there are some things you can’t get around. Dan’s a smart guy. He’ll run checks on who’s lived at the house. If I had kept quiet, he’d have worked it out for himself soon enough.’

She ran a hand across her eyebrows to try and erase a headache. ‘Look, I had no choice but to be honest about my connection to the property and stand down, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell anyone about Dad.’

‘I don’t get it.’ Nathan screwed up his face and scratched his chin. ‘You’ve carried this around for years … always in the dark about what happened. Don’t you want to find out if it’s him? Wouldn’t it at least bring you some closure?’

‘Of course I want to know, but if it is Dad’s body, who do you think their prime suspect is going to be?’

For a moment Nathan looked puzzled, and then, as realisation dawned, he grimaced. ‘Your mother.’

‘Exactly,’ she replied, determined not to let this become one of those situations where her job took priority. ‘Mum and I don’t always get along, but if I’m forced to choose between honesty and loyalty, family wins every time. I don’t want my parents being investigated unnecessarily. I’d much rather wait and hope the forensics will rule them out.’

Nathan reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers. ‘I understand where you’re coming from,’ he said, ‘but if you keep quiet and the body is your dad’s, you could be putting your job at risk.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ she replied, retrieving her hand and using it to reach for her glass of wine. ‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take.’

‘OK.’ He nodded, grudgingly accepting her decision. ‘I guess you’ll just have to sit back and wait and see what happens.’

‘Actually …’ She smiled weakly. ‘I thought I might talk to Mum. See what she says.’

‘Make your own enquiries, you mean?’

Isabel snorted. ‘I’m not planning an off-piste investigation, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I just thought I’d call her, tell her a body’s been discovered and gauge her reaction.’

Nathan poured what was left of the bottle of wine into his own glass. ‘I must admit, your mum is always tight as a clam about your dad. She gets very cagey when you talk about him. I always assumed it was because she was still angry with him for leaving, even after all these years – but maybe there’s another reason. A more sinister one.’

Isabel kept her mouth firmly shut and held up a hand to stop him talking. She’d come to the same conclusion herself, but she couldn’t bear to listen to someone else giving voice to the same doubts.

Upstairs, Ellie had switched on some music. A hard bass beat reverberated through the ceiling and throbbed in Isabel’s temples.

‘Why not ask her straight?’ Nathan nudged her. ‘Tell her about the body and then ask her to explain what happened when your dad left home.’

‘There’s no way I can be that blunt.’ She reached into her pocket to retrieve her phone. ‘It would be tantamount to accusing her of murder.’

Nathan acknowledged her point with a tilt of the head. ‘I suppose you know better than anyone how to ask the right questions,’ he said. ‘But your willingness to ask them … well, that depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On whether you’re ready to hear the truth.’

Chapter 9

‘Issy! What a surprise. It’s not like you to ring midweek. Is everything all right?’

Isabel felt a pang of guilt. Barbara Corrington sounded twitchy and tense, clearly alarmed to hear from her at a time other than the usual Sunday afternoon duty call. Since her mother’s move to Spain five years ago, Isabel saw her only sporadically. She could and should ring her more often.

‘I’ve had a shock today, Mum.’

‘What’s wrong? You’re not ill, are you? Are the children OK?’

She noticed that her mother’s concern didn’t extend to Nathan.

‘I visited a crime scene in Bainbridge. Someone found a man’s body buried in their back garden.’

‘That’s dreadful,’ Barbara replied. ‘But why are you telling me about it?’

A few years ago, Barbara would never have used the word dreadful. Since becoming a Spanish ex pat, she’d embraced a whole new vocabulary.

‘Because …’ Isabel hesitated. ‘The body was found at our old house on Ecclesdale Drive.’

‘What? How ghastly. It used to be such a nice area.’

Aside from the use of the word ghastly, her mother’s cool, unflustered reaction seemed genuine. Isabel experienced a flicker of hope. Surely if Barbara was hiding something, the news that a body had been uncovered in their old garden would have thrown her into panic. She didn’t seem even slightly ruffled.

‘Being back there … it got me thinking about when we lived on the street.’

‘That was a long time ago, Isabel. At least forty years.’ Barbara’s tone was abrasive, verging on dismissive.

‘We moved out in 1978,’ Isabel reminded her. ‘But the body wasn’t buried recently, Mum. It’s been there for several decades.’

The ramifications of this extra piece of information made no impact on Barbara. ‘Well, at least you know the area,’ she said, without missing a beat. ‘That should help when you do your … investigating.’

Isabel resented the way her mother had managed to add the hint of a sneer to the word investigating, as though it was something illicit or shameful. Then again, such flippancy came as no surprise. Barbara had never come to terms with her daughter being part of the force. She’d regularly tried to persuade Isabel to pursue a more genteel career, something safe and sedate. As far as Barbara was concerned, being a detective was unladylike, undignified and dangerous.

‘I’m not involved with the case at the moment,’ Isabel said. ‘We need to rule out any possible connection or crossover with my time at the house. With our time at the house.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘I’ve agreed with the detective superintendent that I won’t work on the case until it’s been confirmed that the body wasn’t buried while we lived there – you, me and Dad.’

Her mother had gone quiet. Was it a silence induced by fear? Or outrage that the Corrington family was being associated with a crime? Or was it because the forbidden word had been uttered: Dad. The person they didn’t speak of.

There was something automatic about her mother’s reticence whenever her father’s name was mentioned. Isabel had always assumed it was an instinctive resistance to the peeling back of old wounds, but now she feared there was more to it. A reluctance to reveal a dark secret, maybe? Or even a guilty conscience.

‘Mum? Are you still there? Did you hear what I said?’

‘Of course I heard.’ Barbara’s tone was snappy and defensive. ‘That bloody boss of yours has got a nerve. I hope you put her straight.’

‘Not exactly. It’s not easy to refute something unless you’re absolutely certain yourself.’

Barbara laughed – a mirthless, scraping sound. Isabel held the phone away from her ear and rolled her eyes at Nathan, who was watching and listening from the other side of the room.

When the sound of laughter died away, Isabel pressed the phone back to her ear.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘You have to ask?’ Barbara replied. ‘You can’t possibly be giving any credence to the idea that your father or I were involved in … what? Murder?’

‘It’s difficult to know what to give credence to when you’ve been kept in the dark for most of your life.’ The searing anger that Isabel had suppressed for so long was beginning to erupt, bubbling slowly to the surface like molten lava. ‘Dad walked out of our lives and we haven’t seen or heard from him since. How do you think that makes me feel, Mum? And why don’t we ever talk about what happened?’

Nathan came over and sat next to her on the sofa. Isabel moved the phone to her right ear so that he could listen in.

‘Ask her,’ he mouthed.

Isabel was struggling to compose a suitable phrase in her head. Why did conversations with her mother always have to be like this? So strained and stilted?

Nathan nodded gently, encouraging her to speak. Her words, when they eventually emerged from her mouth, were a watered-down version of the question she really wanted to ask.

‘Is there something you’re keeping from me, Mum?’

She could hear her mother hyperventilating at the other end of the line. Deep, rasping, uncomfortable breaths.

‘Why do you always refuse to talk about Dad?’ Isabel persisted. ‘I need you to tell me.’

When Barbara spoke, her voice was firm and uncompromising. ‘Trust me,’ she said, ‘there are some things you’re better off not knowing.’

And then she ended the call.

Having kept her secret for forty-two years, it seemed Barbara Corrington intended holding on to it for a while longer. Furious, Isabel stared at her phone and then threw it across the coffee table where it skidded along the glass top and came to a spinning halt.

‘Well?’ Nathan said. ‘What did she say?’

‘Nothing. She hung up on me. Shut me down, like she always does whenever I ask about Dad.’

Isabel felt dizzy with frustration, and disorientated, as though a gaping black hole had opened unexpectedly beneath her feet and she was falling into it. And then she felt Nathan’s arms around her, holding her up. Keeping her safe.

Chapter 10

It was after seven o’clock by the time Dan finished talking to Joyce Littlewood. The information she’d provided was useful and could well turn out to be connected to the case, but he’d still made no significant headway on identifying the anonymous bones. Perhaps the forensics team would come up with something. He bloody well hoped so.

The smell of smoked herring lingered in Dan’s nostrils as he drove along the A6 towards his flat in Duffield. Aside from a quick sandwich at lunchtime, he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He toyed with the idea of calling in at one of the local Indian restaurants for a takeaway, but decided he wasn’t hungry enough to justify the expense. Those stinking kippers had taken the edge off his appetite.

If he was honest, there had been something off about the whole day. Admittedly he was still getting to know DI Blood, but her behaviour this afternoon continued to baffle him.

He knew from experience that she could be cranky, but mostly, what he’d learned so far was that she was plain-speaking and straightforward. Even taking into account her connection to the house on Ecclesdale Drive, her reaction had been way off kilter. His boss was hiding something, Dan was sure of it.

He wondered how the DI would have handled things if she’d stuck around long enough to question Joyce Littlewood. Would she have concluded that the disappearance of Celia Aspen in 1986 must be linked in some way to the discovery of the bones?

If that was the case, the body had been buried years after DI Blood and her family moved out of the house. Dan wished he could update her, but he’d be in trouble with the Super if he shared information about the enquiry with his boss, now that she was officially off the case.

Detective Superintendent Tibbet had already been in touch, checking up on him. She hadn’t said as much over the phone, but he could tell from her clipped tone that she was disappointed at how little there was to report.

After he’d updated her, the Super had instructed him to arrange a meeting for eleven o’clock the following morning. She wanted him to brief the team, including the new SIO in the event that one had been appointed by then.

As he swung the car into his parking space and yanked on the handbrake, a text message pinged onto his phone. It was his ex, Alice. Dan had lived with her in Sunderland for almost a year, but she’d struggled to adjust to life with a policeman. His erratic work hours, mood swings and occasional bouts of hyperactivity had been too much for her to cope with. He’d moved out of their shared flat six months ago and then moved away from the north east completely when he got his promotion. They still kept in touch, and Alice had visited his new flat in Duffield a couple of times. They were what they jokingly referred to as ‘friends with benefits’. Neither of them had started a new relationship, so they weren’t averse to sleeping together whenever they met – but it was more out of habit than anything else.

He read Alice’s message.

I’m free this weekend if you fancy meeting up for a drink? xx

Dan knew how it would go. She would drive down to see him, or he would go up there, back to their old flat. He knew he should put a stop to it. Clinging on to a relationship with Alice, even as friends, wasn’t a good idea. It was time they both moved on.

Sorry, I’ve started investigating a new case. Will probably be working all weekend. Maybe another time. I’ll let you know.

He added a couple of kisses, but then deleted them. He didn’t want Alice to think he was pining for her.

Chapter 11

When Dan got out of bed at six-thirty the following morning, he was weary and out of sorts. It had rained heavily during the night and, even now, was still drizzly and cold. He made himself a quick breakfast of muesli and a yoghurt that was two days past its use-by-date, and then set off for work. An early start would mean a long day, but at least he would avoid the worst of the rush-hour traffic.

When he got to the office at seven-thirty, he was disconcerted to find DC Piper already at her desk, fingers tapping at the keyboard of her laptop.

‘Blimey, Zoe,’ he said. ‘Have you been here all night?’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’ She stared at her screen and squinted. ‘I thought I’d come in early to update you … run through the checks you asked me to do for the briefing.’

Typical Zoe. Organised. Professional. Thoughtful. All the things Dan should be and wasn’t.

He smiled. ‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’

She stood up, wheeled her chair over to Dan’s desk and began to go over the background information he’d asked her to dig out.

‘As well as Celia Aspen’s missing person’s file, I’ve got the names of the people who’ve lived at 23 Ecclesdale Drive over the last forty-five years.’ She handed over a list of names.

‘The next-door neighbour gave me some details yesterday,’ Dan said, pulling out his notebook and comparing the names on Zoe’s list with those provided by Joyce Littlewood.

‘Do you want me to get some intel on them?’ Zoe asked.

Dan pushed the list back towards her. ‘The first name on that list … that’s the DI’s family. Turns out she has a connection to the house. Lived there as a child, apparently.’

‘No way! The Corringtons?’ Zoe craned her neck sideways to check her recall on the names.

‘I know. What are the chances, eh?’ At this stage, he thought it was best to play down his boss’s link with the house. ‘Anyway, until such time as we can determine a more specific timeframe, there’s a potential conflict of interest – so the DI’s had to stand down from the case.’

Zoe was no fool. She sat up, her eyes bright like a rabbit on alert. ‘Do you think the DI’s family could be involved?’

Dan put on his best poker face. ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Then again, you know her better than I do. What can you tell me about her family?’

‘Not a lot,’ Zoe replied. ‘I know that her mum lives in Spain, but she never talks about her dad.’

‘Does she have brothers or sisters?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. She’s never mentioned them.’ She shifted in her chair, leaning forward to close the space between them. ‘Seriously, is the DI’s family being investigated?’

‘Let’s just say they haven’t been ruled out.’ He hesitated before continuing, reluctant to sound disloyal. ‘The thing is … yesterday, at the crime scene, I got the impression she was keeping something to herself. Not being totally honest, you know? It’s probably my imagination. I mean the DI is known for her reliability, isn’t she.’

Zoe smiled. ‘You make her sound very dull and boring.’

‘I don’t mean to,’ Dan said, ‘but honest is her middle name, right?’

‘I’m not so sure about that.’ Zoe joggled her head. ‘It’s true she has a reputation for playing things straight, but I don’t think she’s quite the stickler she’s tagged as. Don’t get me wrong, she wouldn’t do anything crooked, but I get the feeling she’d break a few rules if the circumstances justified it.’

‘Like protecting her family, you mean?’

Zoe opened her mouth to respond but was halted by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Dan snatched up the receiver, wondering who was calling so early.

‘Morning, Dan. I wasn’t sure whether you’d be in yet.’

It was Raveen.

‘I’m trying to get a head start on the case,’ Dan replied. ‘To be honest, I had a restless night … couldn’t switch off.’

‘I sympathise,’ Raveen said. ‘I didn’t get much kip either, although the reason for my restlessness was a fretful baby. My son finally fell into a deep, blissful sleep when it was time for me to get up. It’s all right for him … he doesn’t have to go to work.’

‘I’m hoping this phone call means you’ve got some news on the bones?’

‘They’re still being examined. The post-mortem results should be back in a day or so, but what I can tell you is the skeleton is that of a male aged between fifty and seventy. Other than that, there’s nothing else to report as yet, but I do have something that helps with the timeframe. The forensics team have cleaned up the lighter we found.’

‘And does it have that inscription we talked about?’

He heard Raveen give a low chuckle.

‘Not exactly,’ he replied, ‘but surprisingly, it does have some markings. Why don’t you come down and I’ll show you what we’ve found?’

***

Dan decided to take Zoe with him. Their first stop was the Coppa Café opposite the police station, which opened punctually at 7.45 a.m. every day, except Sundays. Its front windows were steamed up, and two dripping umbrellas had been propped up by the door. The hunger-inducing aroma of bacon, coffee and fresh bread wafted towards them as they joined the queue. By the time they reached the counter, Dan was tempted to order a breakfast baguette, but he didn’t fancy taking it with him into the forensics unit. Instead, he ordered coffees to go: a flat white for himself and an Americano for Zoe.

‘Are we taking one for Raveen?’ Zoe asked. ‘He likes a latte with one sugar.’

‘How do you remember these things? Where do you store all this information?’

Zoe gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘In my head, in a file called “useful-to-know”. You’d be amazed what I keep in that file.’

Clutching their takeaway coffees and sachets of sugar, they stepped back out into the drizzle and dashed around to the rear of the police station, where Forensics was based. The department had a separate entrance, accessed from Devonshire Street, which necessitated a short walk around the block.

They found Raveen in the lab. There were dark circles under his sleep-deprived eyes and he looked ridiculously grateful when Zoe handed him the coffee.

‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘You don’t know how much I needed this.’

He retrieved the evidence bag containing the lighter and placed it on a metal workbench. Dan and Zoe moved in to get a closer look.

‘It was clogged with dirt when we found it, but when we removed the soil, we realised it was a Zippo – which is good news.’

‘It is?’ Dan regarded the plain, white-metal lighter sceptically.

‘Definitely. Every Zippo tells its own story. The first examples date back to the 1930s. The lighters are designed to be windproof and they come with a lifetime guarantee. More importantly for us, since the 1950s, every Zippo lighter has had a date code stamped on the bottom, as part of the quality control process.’

‘Similar to a hallmark?’ Zoe asked. ‘To show when the lighter was made?’

‘Exactly,’ said Raveen. ‘The code tells us the year of manufacture.’

He held up the evidence bag, tilting the lighter so that they could read the marks on the bottom of its metal casing. Engraved on either side of the words ‘Zippo, Bradford PA’ were three backward sloping diagonal lines. Backslashes.

‘I looked it up and these slashes are the date code for 1984,’ Raveen said. ‘The lighter was found underneath the body, which means it was either buried before … which is unlikely … or at the same time as the body. My guess is that it was in the victim’s back pocket when he was buried and, although his clothing hasn’t survived, the lighter has.’

‘So the body must have been buried sometime after 1984?’ said Dan.

Raveen nodded. ‘Sometime between 1984 – the date of the lighter – and about 2007.’

‘Why 2007?’ Zoe asked.

‘Buried without a coffin and in ordinary soil, it takes an adult corpse around twelve years to decompose to a skeleton,’ Raveen explained. ‘So, it could have been buried as recently as twelve years ago, but possibly as long as thirty-five.’

‘That’s still a wide timeframe,’ Dan said, ‘but at least it rules out the years DI Blood’s family lived at the house.’

‘Does that mean she’ll be back on the case?’ Zoe asked.

‘I’d imagine so, but it’ll be up to the Super. I’ll ring her when I get back to the office.’

‘We also found the remains of a metal zip,’ said Raveen. ‘Probably from a pair of jeans. There was no sign of any shoes, which is surprising because rubber-soled shoes can take around fifty years to decompose.’

‘So the victim wasn’t wearing shoes, when he was buried?’ said Dan.

‘He could have been wearing something lightweight,’ Zoe suggested. ‘Leather sandals maybe? Slippers or flipflops?’

‘We do have the dental plate, of course,’ said Raveen. ‘We could try and trace dental records, but there’s no single database, so it would mean contacting local dentists individually.’

‘That sounds time-consuming,’ said Zoe.

‘Quite,’ Raveen said, ‘and not guaranteed to be successful either. Realistically, the chances of finding a dental match are pretty slim, especially if the bones date back as far as the 1980s. So … we’ll need you guys to do your thing if we’re going to have any chance of identifying the victim.’

‘In that case, we’d better crack on,’ Dan said. ‘Come on, Zoe. We’ll get a refill on the coffees on the way back. Something tells me we’re going to need all the caffeine we can get.’

Chapter 12

Isabel drove to work through the morning rush hour, gazing out at the road through heavy eyelids. She’d had very little sleep the previous night. Lying awake, she’d stared at the bedroom ceiling, turning and fidgeting as she’d mulled over the previous day’s events, and speculated on what it was her mother wasn’t telling her. The questions had multiplied in her head overnight, like fast-growing bacteria in a petri dish.

As she parked her car in the last staff space at the station, her phone rang. It was Detective Superintendent Tibbet. Before she answered the call, Isabel reminded herself to be careful. She was tired and on edge, and that’s when mistakes crept in.

‘Morning, Isabel,’ the Super said. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m parking my car,’ she said. ‘I’ll be inside the station in less than a minute. Do you want me to call in to see you on my way up to the office?’

‘Actually, I’m in Matlock for a meeting at the moment,’ Val said. ‘I’ll be out for most of the day. DS Fairfax has just called me with an update, so I thought I’d give you a ring.’

‘Sure.’ Isabel’s heart was banging against her ribcage. ‘Any news?’

‘Apparently Forensics found a Zippo lighter buried with the body. They’ve dated it to 1984, which is obviously several years after your family moved out. The bones are those of a male aged between fifty and seventy and he was suffering from osteoarthritis, but there’s no obvious cause of death. I’m sure DS Fairfax will fill you in on all the details. I’ve asked him to arrange a briefing for eleven.’

Isabel leaned into the headrest as a wave of relief crashed through her solar plexus and pulsed out to every one of her nerve endings. The body wasn’t her dad’s. It had been buried after her family moved out of the house. Thank God she was still sitting in her car. Her knees would have buckled if she’d received this news as she was walking across the car park.

‘I haven’t had a chance to hand the investigation over to anyone else,’ Val said. ‘And now that we’ve got confirmation on the timescales, I can’t see any operational reason why you shouldn’t be the SIO. You’re back in charge, Isabel.’

When the call from the Super was over, Isabel placed her left hand on her midriff to steady her breathing. She felt reprieved. Overwhelmingly so. And yet, irrationally, she was also perturbed – frustrated that her dad’s whereabouts remained a mystery.

Her focus right now would have to be on getting up to speed on the case and learning everything that Dan and the team had discovered – but that didn’t mean she was going to let go of her own burning questions. Serendipitously, this case had brought the Corrington family secret back under the spotlight. She would call her mother again tonight, and this time Isabel wouldn’t let the conversation slip away from her.

***

At one minute to eleven Isabel looked around the light and airy CID room. Located on the top floor of Bainbridge police station, it had a long picture window with an impressive view of Bainbridge Mill and the river. It was a striking vantage point, but one the CID team rarely had time to admire. Over the last few years, they had been struggling to cope with an increasingly heavy caseload – although, thankfully, murders in the town were few and far between.

Two minutes earlier, DC Lucas Killingworth had sidled into the room ready for the briefing. He lived close to the office and, consequently, was able to time his arrival at work to within minutes of his scheduled start time. As usual, he looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed. His red hair needed combing and his white shirt was clean, but un-ironed.

In stark contrast, DC Zoe Piper looked smart, bright and alert, despite having worked the late shift the night before. Isabel couldn’t fault Zoe’s work ethic, but there was something slightly tiresome about her eagerness. She was like an anxious, over-zealous puppy, constantly striving to please its owner.

The uniformed officers who’d attended the scene yesterday had been invited to the briefing. They sat together along the back wall, chatting among themselves as they waited for the meeting to start.

Dan had pinned a photograph to the whiteboard and a question mark was written next to it. Isabel hoped they’d be able to make some progress with an ID after the team had discussed and reviewed what they’d learned so far.

Someone had cobbled together a tray of hot drinks and a plate of digestive biscuits. Isabel grabbed one of the mugs gratefully. The coffee was cheap and instant, but it provided a much-needed dose of caffeine.

At eleven o’clock, she stood by the whiteboard next to Dan and clapped her hands. ‘OK, everyone, let’s make a start, shall we? As you know, the skeleton of an unidentified male was found at 23 Ecclesdale Drive yesterday and, as some of you may have heard, it’s the house I lived in as a child. Because of my links with the address, DS Fairfax took charge of the scene initially while we established a more accurate timeframe on when the body was buried.’

She turned to Dan.

‘A lighter was found with the body,’ he explained. ‘It was manufactured in 1984, which means the victim has to have been buried sometime after that.’

Isabel smiled brazenly, daring anyone to challenge her. ‘My family moved out of the house in 1978. So, I’m pleased to say I’ve been eliminated from enquiries.’

A murmur of nervous laughter tumbled across the room.

‘Although this means I’m back on the case, I’m going to let Dan lead this morning’s briefing. Right now, he knows far more about the situation than I do.’

Dan pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘So far, we have very little to work with,’ he said. ‘Our priority will be to identify the victim. Based on the forensics team’s estimated timeframe on the bones, we’re looking into anyone who occupied the house between 1984 and 2007.’

‘That’s one hell of a massive window, Sarge,’ said DC Killingworth.

‘You’re right, Lucas, but we’re going to have to work with it – at least until we can narrow things down. Forensics are checking for a possible dental match. A partial dental plate was found with the body, so they might strike it lucky, but it’s a long shot, and we can’t rely on them to do our job.’

He tapped the grainy black-and-white photograph he’d pinned to the board.

‘We do have something that is definitely worth prioritising. This photograph was taken from a missing person’s file. Celia Aspen moved into 23 Ecclesdale Drive in 1979 and she disappeared in 1986. She was last seen there in May of that year. There’s no evidence yet, but it seems likely her disappearance is connected in some way to the body discovered yesterday.’

‘What do we know about Celia Aspen?’ Isabel asked.

‘A neighbour told me she was a quiet, reserved kind of person who valued her privacy. In other words, she kept herself to herself. Apparently a niece came to see her regularly but, other than that, Celia Aspen had few visitors. However, the neighbour does remember seeing a man at the house about a month before she disappeared.’

‘Do we know who he was?’ said Lucas.

‘I’m afraid not. According to the neighbour, he was in his late sixties or early seventies, he lived in Canada, and he was originally from Nottingham. That’s all the information we have.’

‘What was the name of the neighbour you spoke to?’ Isabel asked.

‘Mrs Littlewood. Joyce Littlewood.’

Isabel smiled. ‘Mrs L? Blimey, is she still around?’

‘Yes, I spoke to her last night. She’s lived at number 25 since the house was new, so I thought you’d remember her. She must be in her eighties, but she seems razor-sharp and fairly spritely for her age. There certainly doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her memory.’

‘When I lived there, she knew everything and everyone on the street. Nothing much got past Joyce Littlewood.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me in the least,’ Dan said wryly. ‘I don’t think I’d want her as my neighbour, but she was a mine of information once she got talking. She even remembered the name of the niece.’

‘Which was?’

‘Julie Desmond. She was the person who reported Celia missing in September 1986.’

Zoe jiggled her mouse to wake up her computer screen. ‘She also inherited the house … once her aunt was declared dead, that is. According to the case file, the niece was in Australia when her aunt went missing. She flew out to Sydney on 11th May 1986 and Celia Aspen was last seen on 15th May. Julie was away for three months and, when she came back, she assumed her aunt had gone to visit a friend in Canada. When she hadn’t heard from her by September, she checked her aunt’s belongings, found her passport, and realised she wasn’t in Canada after all. That’s when she reported her missing.’

‘Who was the last person to see Celia Aspen alive?’ Isabel said.

Zoe checked her notes. ‘A Timothy Littlewood. Presumably a relation of Joyce Littlewood?’

‘Her son,’ Isabel and Dan said simultaneously.

‘He lives with her,’ Dan explained. ‘He has ASD and, interestingly, both Timothy and Joyce Littlewood had a few run-ins with Celia Aspen over the years.’

‘I knew Tim,’ Isabel said. ‘He was a few years younger than me, but I do recall some of the kids on the street giving him a tough time. Back then – and we’re talking the Seventies, so don’t expect political correctness – people used to say that Tim was slow or odd. Not quite the full shilling. Horrible, I know, but that’s how people were in those days. Cruel and insensitive. As far as I know, Tim hadn’t been flagged as being autistic back then, although I’m not sure whether that kind of proper diagnosis would have been available. Even if it was, I don’t suppose I would have been told about it.’

Dan wrote Joyce and Timothy Littlewood’s names on the board before turning back to face Zoe. ‘Is there anything else in the missing person’s file that we should talk about? Anything that could connect Celia Aspen’s disappearance with the body found yesterday?’

Zoe shook her head. ‘Sorry, ’fraid not. The usual enquiries were made when she went missing, and a body did turn up a few months later on Beeley Moor. They ran a check, but the remains weren’t Celia Aspen’s.’

‘What about the people who moved into the house after she’d disappeared?’ Isabel said.

‘The house stood empty for several years,’ Zoe told her. ‘It was eventually sold in 1993 to Joseph and Rhoda Repton. He died a couple of years ago and Rhoda Repton is now living in a care home. Two months ago, the house was sold at auction to the current owners, Paul and Amy Whitworth.’

‘Anything we should know about the Reptons?’ Dan said. ‘Any incidents? Reports of domestic violence?’

‘Nothing so far.’ Zoe looked guilty, as though it was her fault there was nothing to report.

‘In that case, it’s looking increasingly likely that the body was buried sometime during Celia Aspen’s ownership of the house,’ said Dan. ‘We can’t be certain though. It could have been later. We can’t rule anything out – so we need to keep looking and exploring every possibility.’

‘Not wishing to state the obvious,’ Isabel said, ‘but to stand any chance of finding our killer, we first need to establish who the victim is. In order to investigate the crime, we have to investigate the victim. If we can identify who the bones belong to, we can begin to work out why they were killed and who our suspects are.’

‘Isn’t Celia Aspen the most obvious suspect?’ said Lucas. ‘Seems likely she killed this bloke, buried him in her garden and disappeared to avoid detection.’

‘If that is the case, I doubt we’ll ever find out why she did it or get a conviction,’ Zoe said. ‘Celia Aspen was sixty-eight when she was reported missing. I’d rate the likelihood of her still being alive as somewhere between improbable and impossible.’

‘Joyce Littlewood said much the same thing,’ Dan said. ‘She reckoned Celia would be over a hundred if she is still alive.’

Isabel held up her hands. ‘Hang on a minute, guys. There are quite a few assumptions being made here. I agree that Celia Aspen’s disappearance may be linked to the murder – but let’s not automatically assume that she’s the perpetrator. What’s to say she isn’t a second victim?’

Dan looked sceptical. ‘The CSIs have carried out an initial search of the whole garden,’ he said. ‘There are no obvious signs of a second body.’

‘Her body could have been disposed of elsewhere,’ Isabel remarked. ‘Anyway, even if she did kill this bloke, why would she go to the trouble of burying him in her garden and then do a runner? If she was guilty, staying put would have been far more sensible. Why draw attention to herself by disappearing.’

Isabel was met with a wall of silence.

‘All I’m saying is that we need to keep an open mind about who the possible perpetrator might be. Murder is rarely straightforward and we owe it to the victim to follow every lead, no matter how tenuous it might seem.’

Dan frowned. ‘The problem isn’t following up the leads, boss. It’s finding them in the first place.’

‘So, what’s the plan, Dan?’ Isabel smiled. ‘What lines of enquiry do you suggest?’

Dan exhaled anxiously. ‘We need to track down Celia Aspen’s niece, and I think we need to go back and talk to Joyce Littlewood again.’

‘OK.’ Isabel pointed at DC Killingworth. ‘Lucas, see if you can track down what happened to Julie Desmond. Zoe, carry on with the background check on the Reptons.’

Dan nodded at the uniformed officers. ‘We also need to ask around in the neighbourhood,’ he said. ‘There must be people other than the Littlewoods who remember Celia.’

‘Do your best, everyone,’ said Isabel. ‘This crime may have been committed a long time ago, but we need to show that we’re taking it seriously. Bainbridge residents won’t be happy about having a possible unsolved murder in the town.’

‘According to the Super, the comms team have already been fielding enquiries from the media,’ Dan said.

‘I’ll contact the media officer and agree a statement for the press,’ Isabel said. ‘We’ll make an appeal for anyone with any information to come forward.’

She looked through the window. Outside, the sky was pigeon grey and fat raindrops were trickling down the window. ‘Get your raincoat, Dan. You’re with me. You and I are going to see Joyce Littlewood.’

Chapter 13

By the time they got to Joyce Littlewood’s place the grey clouds had begun to clear and the rain had reverted to a light drizzle. They walked round to the rear of the house and Isabel stood back as Dan rapped his knuckles on the door’s frosted pane.

‘Careful,’ she said, indicating the desiccated putty that was barely holding in the glass. ‘That whole panel will fall out if you knock too loudly.’

‘She’s hard of hearing,’ Dan explained. ‘Apparently she doesn’t wear her hearing aids. Says they whistle.’

‘Nathan’s eldest sister said the same thing. She abandoned hers before she’d given herself time to get used to them. I’ve got this theory that there are thousands of unused hearing aids sitting in drawers all over the country. It must be costing the NHS a fortune.’

When Joyce Littlewood answered the door, she peered out at Dan and smiled. ‘Oh, it’s you again. Got more questions for me have you, duck?’

‘Yes, if you don’t mind. And I’ve brought my boss with me today.’

Mrs Littlewood opened the door, took one look at Isabel and beamed.

‘You can put that away,’ she said, pointing to the warrant card Isabel was holding up. ‘No need to show your ID. I’d know you anywhere. It’s young Isabel Corrington, isn’t it? You’ve hardly changed at all.’

Isabel smiled. ‘If only that were true. As for young Isabel Corrington … well, I’m old Isabel Blood these days. DI Blood.’

‘I heard you’d joined the police force. Even saw you on telly a few years back doing some sort of press conference. I knew you’d end up doing well for yourself. You always were a clever girl.’

They followed Joyce Littlewood through the kitchen and into the living room, where she invited them to sit on the settee. Its patterned nylon covers clashed with the swirling-rose design on the Axminster carpet.

‘Must seem funny for you, Isabel. Working a case at your old house.’

‘You could say that,’ Isabel replied. ‘I know that you and DS Fairfax had a chat yesterday, but I wondered if we could trouble you for some more information.’

‘Course you can. As I’m sure you remember, there’s not much I don’t know about the residents of Ecclesdale Drive. Some people call me nosy, but I like to think of myself as neighbourly. Folks don’t look out for each other anymore, not like they did in the Sixties and Seventies. Things were better back then.’

‘People tend to spend most of their time at work these days,’ Isabel said.

‘You’re right about that. They don’t even stop for a chat. Plenty of time to look at their phones, mind you, but not to pass the time of day with a nosy old bugger like me.’

‘We wondered if you’d remembered anything more about Celia Aspen, specifically the weeks prior to her disappearance?’ Dan said. ‘Or about the man you saw her with in the garden?’

Joyce ignored Dan’s questions and fired off one of her own.

‘How are your parents, Isabel? Still alive and well, I hope.’

Isabel fidgeted uncomfortably. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss the wellbeing of her family with Joyce Littlewood.

‘Mum’s lived in Spain for the last five years.’

‘Very nice. Can’t beat a bit of sun and Sangria, can you?’

Isabel smiled inwardly at the thought of her mother drinking Sangria.

‘What about your dad?’ Joyce always had been persistent. It was a characteristic that clearly hadn’t diminished with age. ‘It was a real shame when he and your mum split up.’

Isabel pulled a ‘help-me-out-here’ face at Dan, who was quick to pick up on her distress signal.

‘Do you know anything about whether Celia Aspen was planning a trip to Canada?’ he said. ‘Prior to reporting her aunt missing, the niece had assumed she was out there visiting a friend.’

Grudgingly, Joyce turned towards him. ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ she replied. ‘That’s something you’d have to talk to Julie about. As I told you yesterday, Celia and I weren’t on friendly terms. If she did have travel plans, she kept them to herself. It’s not the sort of thing she would have shared with me. Mind you, she wasn’t in the best of health, I can tell you that. It’s hard to imagine she’d want to fly all the way to Canada.’

‘What kind of health problems did she have?’ said Isabel.

‘I don’t know any details. As I’ve already told your colleague, Celia was a private person, certainly not the sort to talk about her ailments. Everyone has a right to their privacy, I suppose. I only know she wasn’t well because Julie once let it slip that Celia was on the waiting list for an operation.’

Dan scribbled something in his notebook.

‘The man I saw in the garden was Canadian, of course,’ Joyce added. ‘Well … not Canadian born, but he said he lived there. Who knows, perhaps Celia intended visiting him.’

‘I realise it’s a long shot,’ Dan said, ‘but do you remember if the man in the garden was smoking a cigarette when you saw him?’

‘Not a cigarette, but he did have a pipe. He was smoking it while he was out in the garden. I remember the sweet smell of the tobacco. It was typical of Celia to make him light up outside. She’d have the occasional ciggy herself, but she only ever smoked in the garden. She hated the smell of cigarettes in the house, you see. I’d see her standing on the back yard in all weathers, puffing away. There’s no way she would have allowed anyone to light a pipe indoors.’

‘I understand that Timothy was the last person to see Celia Aspen before she disappeared,’ Isabel said.

‘Yes, he went round there to do some work for her. To tell the truth, I wasn’t too happy with the arrangement. Julie had asked him for a favour. She had Timothy wrapped around her little finger.’

‘What kind of job was he doing? Can you remember? Was it gardening? Something in the house?’

‘He wouldn’t have gone inside. Not with the way things were. It was a minor outside repair as I recall. Something to do with a trellis. Timothy saw Celia through the window, but he didn’t speak to her. You’re welcome to come back and talk to him about it, but it all happened a long time ago. I’m not sure how much he’ll remember.’

‘You said you weren’t happy about Timothy going round next door,’ Dan said. ‘Were you tempted to tell him not to bother?’

‘Yes, to be frank, I was – but Timothy was a grown man by then and capable of making his own decisions. I think the job was something that Julie would normally have done, but she was abroad and she asked him to go round and do it instead.’

‘Do you know where Julie is now?’ Isabel said.

‘Not a clue. I haven’t seen her for donkey’s years. From what I heard she went back out to Australia after her aunty disappeared. I think she’d met some bloke out there.’

‘What about Joe and Rhoda Repton,’ said Dan. ‘Did you get on well with them? What kind of neighbours were they?’

Joyce’s face softened. ‘The best kind,’ she said. ‘We were a similar age and we got on like a house on fire. They were so kind to Timothy and lovely with my grandkids.’

‘How many grandchildren do you have, Joyce?’ Isabel asked.

‘Four. My daughter has two boys and my eldest son has a boy and a girl. They’re grown up now.’

She reached for one of the framed photographs on the mantelpiece and passed it to Isabel.

‘Did the Reptons ever have any problems?’ Dan asked. ‘Did they argue with each other or with anyone else? Were they ever bothered by any troublesome family members?’

‘No.’ Joyce shook her head emphatically. ‘There was never any hassle with the Reptons. They had one son and he was a nice lad. He worked in London for a while but came back to Derbyshire about ten years ago. Lovely family.’

‘OK, well I think that’s all for now, Joyce.’ Isabel stood up and returned the photograph to its position above the fireplace. ‘We may need to come back and speak to Timothy. What time does he get in from work?’

‘Depends what shift he’s on. He’s doing earlies for a couple of weeks, so he’ll be home at about two o’clock today and all next week.’

Isabel gave the old woman’s arm a gentle squeeze. ‘It’s been good talking to you again. Glad to see you looking so well.’

‘You too, Isabel. You’re a real blast from the past. Give my best to your mum next time you speak to her.’

Isabel nodded. ‘I’ll be sure to let her know I’ve seen you.’

Chapter 14

‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ Dan said, as they walked back to the car. ‘We’re no further forward.’

‘We do have one extra piece of information. We know that Celia’s visitor smoked a pipe.’

‘Do you think he was the owner of the lighter?’

‘It’s possible. Zippos are made in the USA. Do you think someone living in Canada is more likely to own one than someone in the UK?’

‘Not necessarily,’ Dan said. ‘I owned a Zippo once, and I don’t even smoke. Anyway, we found a lighter with the body, but there was no sign of a pipe.’

‘Good point,’ Isabel said. ‘But aren’t pipes usually made of wood? Surely it would have rotted away by now?’

‘I’m not sure about that. I’d imagine the stem would be made of some kind of plastic or resin. We’d have to check with Raveen.’

Isabel dug around in her coat pocket for her car keys. ‘Joyce also said that Celia wasn’t in the best of health. That makes her even less likely to be our killer. Do you honestly think she would have been capable of digging a grave and moving a body if she was ill?’

Dan shrugged. ‘Perhaps she had help.’

‘You could be right. It’s something to bear in mind.’

She unlocked the car and they got inside, but instead of starting the engine and driving away, she sat for a moment and stared up at the first floor of number 23, to the window that had once been her bedroom.

She wished she could have remembered the house as a warm, cosy place to live – but when her family had moved in, there had been no central heating or double glazing. The only source of warmth had been a coal fire in the living room, which her mother had insisted on calling ‘the lounge’. At night there had been winceyette nighties and brushed cotton sheets, hot water bottles, and woollen blankets topped with a pink feather eiderdown. Isabel would wake on winter mornings to find Jack Frost patterns frozen onto the inside of her bedroom window.

She supposed she had been impervious to the cold in those days because, despite a lack of heating, the house had seemed a safe, loving place in which to grow up. It had been far from perfect, but there had been days, sometimes weeks of happiness. And then her father left and everything had changed.

‘Looks like the forensics team have nearly finished,’ Dan said, his voice jolting her back to the present. ‘The owner will be pleased. He was chomping at the bit to get on with his extension.’

‘Champing,’ Isabel said.

‘Sorry?’

‘The original expression was champing at the bit. A lot of people say chomping these days but, strictly speaking, it isn’t correct.’

Dan frowned. ‘Right, well, thanks for correcting my grammar, boss. Sorry if my misuse of the English language has offended you.’

Isabel smiled. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be picky.’

The way Dan lifted an eyebrow suggested that he didn’t believe her.

‘Should we go and see if they’re in?’ she said. ‘The Whitworths, I mean?’

‘It’s up to you … although I’m not sure what else they can tell us. It’s not as if they’re suspects. They’ve only owned the house for a few weeks.’

‘You’re right.’ She pushed the key into the ignition, but still didn’t start the engine. ‘Maybe I’m looking for an excuse to have a poke around my old stomping ground.’

‘Are you sure you don’t mean stamping ground?’

She laughed. ‘Touché.’

Dan looked out through the windscreen towards the house. ‘Must be weird for you, being back here.’

Isabel cocked her head. ‘I wouldn’t call it weird,’ she said. ‘It’s more unsettling than anything. This is my childhood home … for me it has a kind of primordial pull. I’ve changed, and the house has changed, but when I look at it now, I see things as they were and it makes me feel sad.’

‘Memories, eh?’

She gave a shallow sigh. ‘Yep. Some happy times. Unhappy ones too. I had my whole life ahead of me when I lived here. Being back makes me grieve for all the people and things I left behind. Once something’s truly lost, I’m not sure you can ever get it back.’

‘Well, in my opinion, there are some things you’re better off without. Onwards and upwards, that’s what I always say.’

Isabel forced a smile, trying to quell the inner turmoil that was threatening her equanimity. ‘You’re probably right.’

‘If you don’t mind my saying, boss, you seem out of sorts. Are you OK? Is there something you’re not telling me?’

She hesitated, wondering how best to respond. ‘This case has opened up a can of worms for me, Dan – on a personal level.’ She blinked to disguise the sadness in her eyes. ‘I know I’ve been subdued. I can be a right maudlin cow at times, can’t I?’

Dan grinned. ‘No comment.’

She laughed, warming to his sense of humour.

‘There are some things I’ve not told you,’ she admitted, ‘but they’re not connected to the case, so they’re not really relevant now.’

‘Fair-dos,’ Dan said. ‘It’s up to you, but if you do want to talk, I’m a good listener.’

Isabel drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, trying to decide whether or not to confide in him. She barely knew Dan, but a lack of familiarity often made it easier to open up about things.

‘My parents split up in 1977,’ she said, making up her mind to share. ‘My dad walked out one day and didn’t come back. We’ve never seen or heard from him since.’

Dan grunted sympathetically. Isabel waited, watching his eyebrows shoot up as he realised the implications of what she’d told him.

‘Bloody hell!’ he said. ‘So you must have wondered …?’

‘Whether it was my dad buried in that garden?’ She inclined her head towards number 23 as she finished his sentence. ‘Let’s just say that my imagination bombarded me with all sorts of possibilities.’

‘I had a gut feeling something wasn’t right,’ Dan said. ‘I’m still getting to know you, but you seem like a pretty tough cookie, and I could tell something had shaken you. I just didn’t know what.’

‘The whole scenario was a complete fucking nightmare,’ Isabel said. ‘Everything was spiralling out of control. The thought that it might be him terrified me, and yet … in a way, it would have been the answer to my prayers.’

She paused, mortified by her own words. ‘You must think I’m awful saying that, but all my life I’ve carried this vexing, unanswered question around with me … It’s been an agonising puzzle, and there have been times when it’s sabotaged my happiness. Obviously if the body had been my dad’s, it wouldn’t have been the outcome I wanted, but I would have welcomed an answer – any answer – no matter how unsavoury.’

‘Doesn’t your mum know what happened to him?’

Isabel shook her head. ‘She’s never told me anything. I asked often enough, at least in the beginning, but she’s always been tight-lipped on the subject.’

Dan listened silently.

‘As a kid, I found it incredibly frustrating,’ Isabel continued. ‘It was probably the reason I ended up joining the force. I wanted a career that was a complete contrast to my own life … a job that gave me the authority to investigate, find explanations and solutions. Naïvely, I hoped being with the police might help me locate my dad. Early on in my career, I even made a few covert searches of the police database – that’s how desperate I was to find him.’

‘Wow, you wouldn’t get away with that nowadays.’ Dan seemed shocked and mildly disapproving.

‘I wouldn’t have gotten away with it then if they’d found out.’

‘Why didn’t you say anything about your dad when you stood down from the case?’ Dan asked. ‘Seems to me you’re not as squeaky clean as people say, DI Blood.’

His audacity made her laugh, which dissolved any tension between them. ‘I would have said something eventually, if it had been necessary. But surely you can understand my reluctance? This was a big deal for me. I was on the verge of accusing my mother of …’ She glanced at him, wondering if she’d already said too much.

‘Accusing her of what?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘The things that were running through my head don’t bear thinking about. As it turns out, there was no need for me to worry, was there? The body was buried years after Dad left home.’

‘True.’ Dan nodded. ‘I’m guessing that news must have come as a huge relief, but it does kind of leave things in the air. You still don’t know what happened to your dad, do you?’

He was right. Despite the emotional rollercoaster she’d been riding for the last twenty-four hours, Isabel remained firmly in the dark, and it rankled.

Determined to pursue and unscramble the riddle of what had happened to her father, she doubled her resolve to ring her mother again later that evening.

***

When they got back to the station, Dan was called out almost immediately to investigate reports of an armed robbery at a petrol station on the outskirts of Bainbridge. Isabel retreated behind her glass-partitioned office to update the case log and catch up on emails and paperwork.

At three o’clock, Zoe stuck her head round the door to ask if she wanted a cup of tea.

‘Thanks, I’d love one. Nice and strong, eh? Make sure you squeeze the teabag.’

Zoe was munching on a bar of chocolate when she placed the steaming mug on Isabel’s desk. ‘There you go,’ she said. ‘How did the interview with Joyce Littlewood go?’

‘OK.’ She sipped the scalding tea tentatively. ‘She told us that Celia Aspen’s visitor smoked a pipe, so it’s possible he was the owner of the lighter. We’re still grasping at straws though. What about you? You were going to double check on the Reptons. Find anything?’

‘Nothing at all,’ Zoe said. ‘No criminal records … absolutely nothing on the PNC or any of the other databases. They weren’t on our radar at all, although I did find an online obituary for Joe Repton. He sounds like a model citizen. He was a member of the local allotment society, he enjoyed watching cricket, and Rhoda was described as his devoted wife – hardly the kind of couple that would kill someone and bury the body in the back garden.’

‘Crimes aren’t always committed by bad people, Zoe. Even the nice ones can do terrible things if circumstances drive them to it.’

Zoe lowered her eyes. ‘I’ve traced Rhoda’s son,’ she said. ‘Do you want me to talk to him?’

‘Give him a call and then pay him a visit if you feel you need to. What about Lucas? Has he located Julie Desmond yet?’

Zoe pushed the last piece of chocolate into her mouth and licked her fingers. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Shall I send him in?’

‘Do that,’ Isabel said. ‘And thanks for the tea, Zoe.’

***

Lucas gave her door a cursory knock before sloping into the office and flopping onto the chair on the other side of her desk.

‘You wanted to see me, boss?’

Lucas was a nice lad and good at his job. His manners, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired. Isabel felt sure he didn’t mean to be rude. To Lucas, it came naturally.

‘How are you getting on with tracking down Celia Aspen’s niece?’ she asked.

‘I’ve got an address for her in Melbourne. Turns out she’s actually Celia’s great-niece. Julie’s paternal grandmother must have been Celia’s sister. I got the address from Julie’s mother, Mary Summers. She lives in Matlock. She was also questioned at the time of Celia Aspen’s disappearance, so we might want to talk to her again at some point.’

‘I’m sure we will. For now, we’ll start with Julie Desmond. Email the contact details to me and I’ll get in touch with her.’

***

Isabel left the office just before five o’clock, but instead of heading straight home, she decided to drive to Ellie’s school to see the art exhibition. She was feeling increasingly guilt‑ridden about not staying to see it after the parents’ evening, especially as art seemed to be the one subject her daughter was taking seriously.

From an early age, Ellie had loved to express her creativity through a variety of artistic media, and Isabel was determined to do everything possible to encourage her talent. Viewing the exhibition at the school seemed an obvious way to do that.

There was something weird about walking into the unnatural silence of an empty school. It was like lifting the lid of a piano and discovering the keys were missing. The main entrance was deserted and the reception area shuttered, but Isabel knew where to find the main hall. Forty years ago, she’d been a pupil here herself – she was familiar with the building’s puzzling architectural layout.

Her shoes squeaked on the polished floor as she approached the hall. Pulling back one of the double doors, she stepped into a space illuminated by a set of brash lights. A huge showcase of student artwork had been pinned to large boards positioned along the walls. Each piece had the artist’s name printed above it, together with their age and the title of the piece. Three other people were wandering around, admiring the exhibition.

It was easy to spot Ellie’s work among the displays. Her style was distinctive and detailed and used bright, bold blocks of colour. Isabel went straight over to the first of her daughter’s paintings, which was called Distance. It showed Bainbridge’s main shopping street from above, as though viewed from a drone. Next to it was a pop art style cartoon. Ellie had drawn herself alongside a male figure Isabel didn’t recognise. A speech bubble coming from the man’s mouth said Why, Ellie, this painting is a masterpiece. Soon you’ll have all of Bainbridge clamouring for your work.

‘It’s a play on Roy Lichtenstein’s Masterpiece,’ said a voice. When Isabel turned, she found herself staring at the man from the cartoon.

‘That’s you … in the picture.’ She laughed.

‘Yes, I’m David Allerton, Ellie Blood’s art teacher.’

‘And I’m her mother.’ Isabel shook his hand.

‘Your daughter really is very gifted. I hope she’ll continue with her art through to A level and beyond.’

‘I hope so too,’ said Isabel. ‘My husband’s an illustrator and I think Ellie must have inherited his artistic gene. She certainly doesn’t get it from me.’

David Allerton smiled good-naturedly.

‘We came to see Ellie’s form tutor yesterday,’ she said, wondering if he might be able to offer an insight into Ellie’s recent behaviour. ‘My daughter seems to have acquired a bad rap with the teachers. Your report was the only one that said anything positive about her.’

The art teacher looked disappointed and a little embarrassed. ‘The trouble with Ellie is, she’s easily influenced,’ he said. ‘A couple of her mates have been displaying very negative behaviour this term, and I think some of that has rubbed off on her. The good news is she’s started to be more selective about her friends over the last couple of weeks. She’s been hanging out with a new girl … Lily Nashwood. Have you met her?’

‘No, not yet.’ Isabel speculated on whether Nathan knew about this burgeoning friendship. ‘Is she a good kid?’

‘I’d say so,’ David Allerton replied. ‘She and Ellie seem to have a lot in common. I’d try to encourage the friendship if I were you.’

‘Thanks,’ Isabel said. ‘I will.’

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