Poor, rich Andrea. She'd never really had much luck with men, and Bolt wondered whether in Phelan she'd made the worst choice of all.

She woke up when they were stuck in traffic on Hampstead high street.

'How long have I been out for?' she asked, rubbing her eyes.

Bolt checked the clock on the dashboard: 12.49. 'A while. The traffic's been murder.' In his rearview mirror, he saw that Marie had also gone to sleep in the back. Clearly his effect on women wasn't quite as electric as he would have liked.

Andrea yawned. 'Do you mind if I smoke?'

He smiled. 'Well, technically it's illegal as this is a work car, but I guess under the circumstances we can make an exception. I'd ask Marie, but she looks flat out.'

Andrea looked round, checked that she was, and opened her window halfway before lighting up.

'Thank God for that,' she whispered, looking at Bolt. 'She means well, but I wish she'd just leave me alone.'

'She's just trying to help.'

'Yeah, but sometimes you can try too hard.'

Bolt watched as she put the cigarette to her lips. Her hands were trembling and the drags she took were short and urgent. The tension was coming off her in waves.

'You know, Andrea,' he said, turning off the high street, 'we've checked out your house, and the area round it, and we can't work out how the kidnapper could have known Emma's movements so thoroughly.'

'So you still think it might be an inside job?'

'It's a strong possibility.'

Andrea sighed, taking another drag on the cigarette. 'I just can't see it being Pat, that's all. He's got faults – big ones, like the fact that he's a waster – and if I'd known about them when I first met him I'd never have married him, but he wouldn't have done something like this to Emma. He's not cold enough. And I've met some cold people in my time.'

Bolt thought of Jimmy Galante. She was right on that score.

They were almost there now, and Bolt used a dual-band radio to call the surveillance team. He needed confirmation that the area round Andrea's house was still secure. When this had been given by the team leader, he slowed the car down and turned into Andrea's road.

It was a leafy avenue of grand semi-detached houses, lined with mature oak trees planted fifteen yards apart, with expensive-looking sports cars and 4_4s parked on both sides. Instinctively, Bolt checked for occupants, but they were all empty, although he spotted a white van with blacked-out windows and the name of a plumbing firm down the side, which he recognized as a SOCA surveillance vehicle. A pretty young woman with oversized sunglasses who was busy putting a toddler in the car seat of a brand-new Range Rover seemed to be the only person around.

Andrea's place, one half of an impressive-looking three-storey Edwardian redbrick building, was about halfway down on the right hand side. It was fronted by a brick wall approximately head height, mounted with freshly painted black railings, which enclosed the entire property but wouldn't have put off a determined intruder. Bolt found a parking spot about thirty yards further down between a Mercedes and a BMW people carrier. In the back, Marie woke up with a start.

As Bolt got out of the car he saw a shadow move across one of the upstairs windows of the house opposite. It had been turned into an observation post by the surveillance team, giving them a perfect view of the portion of the street to the front of Andrea's house.

Bolt let Andrea lead the way, with Marie bringing up the rear. He thought about how much Andrea had moved on since the old days when he'd first known her. It was all down to her own efforts as well. He admired her for that, but then she'd never been short of spirit and drive. It was spirit she was going to need now.

'We've got something called a trace/intercept set up on your landline,' he told her as she pressed the buzzer on the security gate and waited for Turner to let them in. 'It means that if they make a call to your home, we'll be able to pinpoint the location of the caller very quickly.'

'I don't want you to do anything that risks hurting Emma, Mike.'

'We won't,' said Bolt, but it was a lie, and he knew it. Whatever they did, they risked hurting Emma.

Matt Turner buzzed them in, and as they stepped inside the gate Bolt was immediately struck by the strong scent of flowers. The garden was a riot of colour, well kept with neat flowerbeds bordering the house's exterior wall. It was also very well stocked, with thick walls of greenery rising all round the terraced lawn. His wife Mikaela would have loved this place. She'd always wanted to live in a big, rambling house with a couple of kids and a couple of dogs and plenty of space, somewhere that with his copper's salary and hers as a primary school teacher they were never going to be able to afford.

Turner met them both at the door, greeting Andrea with a formal 'Mrs Devern' and moving out of the way to let her pass.

The front door led into a rather grand tiled hallway with a flight of stairs disappearing up to the next floor. The decor was all very neutral, with off-white colours dominating, which in Bolt's opinion gave it a rather soulless feel – not that he was any kind of expert in interior design. Straight ahead of him, above a vase containing partially wilted orchids, was a large professional portrait photograph of Andrea and Emma. It was a good shot of both mother and daughter, who were smiling widely at the camera, their faces side by side and touching, and the twinkle was firmly in Andrea's eye. Emma was a pretty kid with dark blonde hair down to her shoulders and a cute button nose. She looked young in the picture, probably no more than ten.

Bolt looked away quickly, not wanting to draw attention to the photo. Marie asked whether anyone would like a cup of tea.

Bolt smiled at her. 'I'll take coffee, thanks, if it's going.'

Turner said he'd have the same.

Andrea didn't appear to have heard her. She was staring at the picture.

'What do you think of her, Mike? Isn't she beautiful?'

'Yes,' he said, keen to keep Andrea's spirits up. 'She's beautiful. And we're going to bring her back.'

'You've got to.'

The hallway fell silent and Marie and Turner went into the kitchen, leaving Bolt and Andrea alone. She ran a hand through her hair, turning away from the photo.

'I don't know what to do, Mike. It's the waiting.

It's killing me.'

'Why don't you lie down for a bit?' He felt uneasy standing so close to her. 'We'll let you know of any developments.'

She nodded, and started up the staircase.

Bolt watched her go, then went to get his coffee.

The kitchen was large and modern with a breakfast island in the middle, and gleaming pots and pans hanging from hooks all around. Again, he thought about how much Mikaela would have loved a place like this. She'd been a great cook, but had had to do all her cooking in a place about a quarter of this size.

Marie and Turner were at the far end of the room, talking while she poured boiling water into the cups. Turner was approaching thirty and still resolutely single, a situation he seemed increasingly desperate to remedy. He tended to get first dates – he was a proud member of at least a dozen internet agencies, so was always getting introductions – but second ones proved a lot more elusive, which Bolt thought was a pity. Prematurely balding with a long hangdog face designed for frowning, and an obsession with the technical, the guy was definitely the kind of acquired taste a lot of people never get round to acquiring, but Bolt liked him. Turner might have had a geeky exterior, but he also had a bone-dry sense of humour, he never moaned, and there was a certain vulnerability about him that Bolt found endearing. Lately, he'd been smiling a lot more, as if he'd been taking charm lessons.