Richard felt the disgust at his life wash over him. His only use to his wife was the vicarious kudos of his standing as a member of parliament; a career which gave her an element of respectability that counter-balanced her unsavoury clientele.

‘Don’t look so shocked, my dear. It is an arrangement that has worked well and should continue to do so.’

His skin crawled at the thought of sharing a bed with Marta after what he had learned. At times, Richard had felt they had a genuine connection and yet he had been nothing more than a salary enhancement.

‘But why Marta?’ he asked, still stunned from her admission.

‘My image is everything and I will not allow you to tarnish it. You are a man and you have certain needs but I would never tolerate you screwing some diseased whore out on the streets and putting my children in danger.’

He watched as Nina took out her mobile phone. ‘Now, run along like a good boy while I continue to clean up your mess.’

Richard stood on the cusp of a decision. His hands were clenched at his sides. He could turn and walk away, out of this house, away from Nina’s coldness and control.

He could go straight to the police and release the burden inside him. He could be free of this woman and the life he led.

He considered his meagre MP’s salary of £65,000. Even creative accounting with his expenses left daylight between him and a six-figure income. His monthly pay barely covered the house utility bills. The salary of his wife paid for the mortgage, the cars and the £5,000 pocket money that landed in his account on the first of each month.

Richard’s clenched hands fell to his sides. He turned and walked into the study, carrying his balls on a nine-carat-gold dinner plate.

Only when the door was closed behind him did he wipe at the bead of sweat behind his ear. His last remaining sliver of pride had prevented him doing so in front of his wife.

Teresa and Tom were dead and Arthur on his way. Richard wanted to believe that the deaths were coincidental. He had to believe it ... because not believing it could only mean one thing; that he was probably next.

Forty

Kim dialled Stacey’s number as Bryant gave their order at the McDonalds drive-thru. It was answered on the second ring.

‘Stace, we’re going to need any addresses you’ve got for the ex-occupants of Crestwood ‘cos we are rapidly running out of staff members.’

‘Yeah, we heard about that here. Woody’s already been down here looking for yer.’

‘Woody’s after me,’ she whispered to Bryant as Stacey tapped her keyboard.

Bryant grimaced.

‘Okay, first one on the list is, oh actually, it’s two of 'em. Twin sisters named Bethany and Nicola Adamson. This address is for Nicola at Brindleyplace in Birmingham.’

Kim read out the address and Bryant jotted it down.

‘Okay, can you work on tracking down that pastor you mentioned before? His name came up again so I think he’s worth a visit. The girls may have talked to him.’

‘On it, Guv.’

‘Thanks, Stace. Anything from Dawson?’

‘Not to me.’

Kim ended the call.

‘We really should have gone back to the station after what happened earlier,’ Bryant said.

Kim knew full well they should have briefed Woody about the hit-and-run and followed the procedure that accompanies the witnessing of any 'traumatic incident' but on her team they'd never get out the station.

'I’ll do a report later and go talk to Woody but we’re running out of time. So far we’ve lost four people that worked at Crestwood at the time it closed.’

She took a bite of the chicken burger. It tasted like a wedge of cardboard placed between two slabs of MDF. She put it aside and took out her mobile phone.

Dawson answered immediately.

‘How’s things?’ she asked.

‘Moving along. Cerys is in the pit with her hand tools so we’re not far away from whatever’s down there.’

Kim could hear the fatigue in his voice. ‘Did you pay a visit to William Payne?’

‘Done, Guv. I placed a check call to ADT to make sure the alarm is working. I cleaned and tested the motion sensors front and back which work on a fifteen foot arc. I got him to move a couple of planters away from the fence and change the battery in Lucy’s emergency response pendant, just to be sure.

‘Oh, and I’ve briefed every patrolling officer to include Payne’s home in their perimeter checks.’

Kim smiled. And that was why he was on the team. There were times that managing Dawson was like mothering a toddler. Some days he tried her patience to the limit and others where he did his job; brilliantly.

‘Just so you know, Guv. It came over the radio. Arthur Connop died.’

Kim said nothing. She had known he wasn't going to make it.

‘SOCO still have the road closed. You never know, there might be something.’

Kim ended the call. 'Connop,' she whispered.

‘Dead?’ Bryant asked.

Kim nodded and then sighed. If she was perfectly honest, she was hard pushed to measure the loss of Arthur Connop. His wife had been emphatically disinterested in his whereabouts. No one they’d spoken to had harboured any affection for the man at all, past or present. Perhaps Maureen might feel his loss from the decrease of beer and cobs sold per week but few would seriously mourn his passing.

Kim would have liked to think that the rude, insufferable man had once been a decent human being who had slowly grown bitter with age but his blatant neglect of his charges ten years ago destroyed the false hope. She suspected that Maureen was right that Arthur had always been selfish and mean ‒ but she now had to wonder if he was more than that. How far would he have gone to cover his tracks?

As Bryant wiped at his mouth with a paper serviette Kim glanced at the dashboard clock. It was just after three and a lot of paperwork lay ahead at the station. It had already been a long and taxing day and she could always start working through the list of occupants tomorrow. Her body demanded a shower and some rest.

‘You want me to head towards that address in Birmingham, then, Guv?’

She smiled and nodded her head.

Forty-One

Covering seventeen acres, Brindleyplace was the largest mixed-use redevelopment in the UK. Canal-side factories and a Victorian school had been renovated in a range of architectural styles.

The project was started in 1993 and now offered three distinct areas.

Brindleyplace was an assortment of low-rise buildings offering plush office space, retail units and art galleries while Water’s Edge housed the bars, restaurants and cafes. The residential element sprawled out from Symphony Court.

‘Guv, what the hell are we doing wrong?’ Bryant asked as they stood on the fourth floor of the King Edwards Wharf building.

The door was answered by a slim, athletic woman wearing black leggings and a tight sports top. Her face bore the flush of recent exertion or exercise.

‘Nicola Adamson?’

‘And you are?’

Bryant offered his warrant card and introduced them both.

She stood aside and welcomed them into an open plan penthouse.

Kim stepped onto beech wooden flooring that stretched all the way to the kitchen area.

White leather sofas were set diagonally before a wall bearing a large, flatscreen television. Beneath it were various electronic devices recessed into the wall. No wires or cables were evident.