Jessica didn’t know exactly where they were going but the allotments were signposted and two marked police cars were already parked in front of a wide metal gate which separated the plots from the road. As Jessica pulled in behind the vehicles, Rowlands got out of the one at the front and came towards her.

‘Do we know who runs plot sixty-one then?’ she asked, pulling on a jacket.

‘Sort of. We found out that the council owns the land but the running of it is handed over to individual allotment societies. Each society has a secretary. The one from here is the guy that identified the key for us. Anyway, he says number sixty-one has been registered to a “Glenn Harrison” for the best part of twenty years.’

‘I don’t recognise the name.’

Rowlands shook his head. ‘No, and we don’t have anyone in our files that would fit it either. The secretary read us the guy’s address but . . .’

‘. . . it doesn’t exist.’ Jessica finished the constable’s sentence with a slight wince as he nodded to confirm she was right. Izzy had walked around the vehicle and heard the final part of the conversation.

‘So who pays for the land, then? Isn’t it like fifty quid a year or something?’ she asked.

‘Er, yeah. How do you know that?’ Rowlands replied.

‘My dad used to keep a plot. I think he just went there to get some peace to be honest.’

Rowlands gave her a ‘don’t blame him’ look, adding, ‘The secretary says it’s forty-eight quid a year. He checked his files and said Harrison paid in cash. He reckons the society are trying to get people to switch to direct debits and the like but a lot of their members are older and will only deal in cash.’

Jessica spoke next. ‘So does he know who this Harrison guy is?’

‘Apparently not. He says some people pay direct to the council, others post him cheques and so on. He’s looking into it now but I think we’ll have to visit him.’

Jessica was wary of what they might find at plot sixty-one. She was only too familiar with the horrors people could commit when their identity was known, so the thought of what someone could have been up to when it wouldn’t be traced back to them was something she didn’t want to anticipate.

With little else to say, Rowlands and Jessica led their small party through the gate. The patches were numbered sensibly in rows of ten, becoming larger as the land widened. Some of the plots proudly displayed their numbers either on a shed or attached to a piece of wood hammered into the ground. The patches became bigger still as they moved deeper into the site, a few gardeners tending their plants nearby. The presence of men and women in suits and police coats was undoubtedly out of the ordinary and the few who were around watched them edge through the site.

Jessica tried her best not to step on anyone’s plants as Rowlands led them along a path that cut through a selection of plots. She saw a large ‘5’ painted onto the side of a shed and looked up ahead to see where they were going. Plot sixty-one seemed to be unmarked, the land itself relatively untended, while the wooden shed was somewhat larger than the ones close to it. Someone had fitted guttering to the roof, which allowed water to run onto the pathway as opposed to falling on the soil.

Taking the key from Rowlands, Jessica pressed the side of the shed. It felt thick and unmoving. She looked to see if there were any windows but there seemed to be no way in other than the door, which was secured with a heavy metal padlock. She slid the key into the lock with ease, turning it until it made a solid click, then opened the latch, taking a deep breath before pulling the door open.

The hinges creaked as Jessica stepped around the swinging door and crossed the threshold. For the second day running no one had thought about the light situation. Jessica asked Rowlands if he’d brought a torch but he pulled a face and held his hands up open-palmed. Jessica waved him and Izzy into the hut then asked everyone to clear away from the entrance in order to let as much light in as possible.

Her footsteps echoing off the creaking wooden floor, Jessica surveyed the gloomy interior, noticing a metal desk pushed up against the wall opposite the door with a swivel chair underneath. Despite the poor light, she could see yellow foam spilling out of the backrest. A gas canister and small portable stove were in another corner. From what she could see, there wasn’t anything pinned to the walls and, apart from flecks of dried soil, very little else of note.

‘See anything?’ Jessica asked. The other two officers answered ‘no’ at the same time. Jessica wheeled the chair out from under the desk and sat on it. ‘Something’s not right about this place,’ she commented. Rowlands was tapping the walls with his knuckles for some reason. It was the kind of thing people did on property programmes but Jessica figured they knew what they were doing while she wasn’t convinced the constable had any real idea.

‘It doesn’t feel like an allotment shed, does it?’ Izzy said.

‘Go on,’ Jessica answered.

‘Where are the tools, spades, rakes, sweeping-up brushes and so on you’d expect in a shed like this? I know some people might use it as somewhere to go for a bit of peace and quiet but you’d still have something, wouldn’t you? Even just a radio?’

Jessica nodded. ‘Exactly and it doesn’t look like there’s much in the way of plants outside. Whoever’s been using this place hasn’t been doing much gardening. So what have they been doing?’

She spun the chair around so she was facing the desk again. The entire unit looked thick and solid, a huge job for just one person to move. The right side had three drawers and she pulled the first one, hearing the rattle of a ballpoint pen sliding to the front. Jessica went to pick it up but then stopped herself, taking an evidence bag from her pocket and sealing it inside. She doubted there would be any fingerprints or DNA on it but it would be careless to touch it herself.

The second drawer was empty but the bottom one was stuck tighter than the compartments above it. Jessica pulled hard until it sprung forward. At first she didn’t see anything but, as Izzy stepped to the side allowing in fractionally more light, Jessica noticed a pad of paper pushed towards the back. She took another evidence bag from Rowlands and put her hand inside, pulling the notebook out before placing it on top of the desk.

She took her phone out of her pocket and tapped the screen making it light up, hovering the device over the paper so she could read the words. It was a list written in blue biro and there was no doubt about the name at the top. Izzy gasped as she leant in and read it for herself.

‘Isaac Hutchings’ was written in neat block capital letters next to an address.

5

The mood was dark in DCI Cole’s office. Only occasionally did they find something so out of the ordinary that no one knew how to react. The pad and pen from the desk had been sent off to the labs, which were always creaking under the sheer amount they had to do.

The three detectives each had a photocopied version of the front page of the pad. Jessica had endured another sleepless night, aware of the implications of the list.

She could hear Reynolds tutting as Cole began to speak. ‘I think we can all agree this list of names is pretty disturbing. The good news is that, aside from Isaac Hutchings, the other eight children mentioned have all been accounted for and are safe. We’ve been discreet when talking to their parents – the last thing we need is a panic. But we have asked them to be vigilant.’

‘Who the hell is making lists of children?’ Reynolds asked, sounding as angry as Jessica had ever heard him.