Jessica used her hand to fan her face as she spoke. ‘What do you reckon?’

‘She’s never going to get what she wants regardless of what she thinks she knows. If she knew who took Mrs Johnson, why they took her and where the woman is, whether she’s alive or dead, then maybe the CPS would talk about things. All she says is that she knows who arranged for it and she won’t even tell us who told her. I think she’s seen too much American TV. It doesn’t work like that here.’

Jessica shrugged. ‘Are you going to talk to the super?’

‘Yes, let’s go back and tell her she’s got no chance first and see if she’s got anything else to add. I don’t know what her solicitor thinks he’s playing at.’

The two detectives walked back into the interview room and sat down. ‘I think there might be a bit of confusion here,’ Jessica said. ‘If you’re going to confess to the robberies in court, they will sentence you. All we can do is tell the people prosecuting you that you’ve been extremely helpful. We’ve had a chat and, in all honesty, neither of us are convinced you’ve got any information you can help us with. Even if you knew where Mrs Johnson was, or who took her, we still couldn’t drop the charges. It doesn’t work like that.’

The woman glanced at the table then scratched her head before nodding towards the solicitor sitting next to her. ‘That’s what he said.’ Jessica looked at the DCI but, before they could say any more, Erica spoke again. ‘It was the husband.’ The tone was lower and softer than the woman’s previous words.

‘Sorry?’ Jessica said.

‘It was the husband who wanted rid of her – the one that’s been all over TV. He paid some people to get rid of her. He’s got some other woman somewhere.’

‘Who told you?’

‘I’m not saying. I don’t know anything else, that’s it.’ She looked to her solicitor. ‘Can I go back downstairs now?’

Erica refused to add anything else and, after she had been returned to the cells, Cole called both Reynolds and Cornish back to the station and told them what had been said. The information was nothing they could use as evidence but, at the same time, the robbery suspect had ended up giving it to them voluntarily. She didn’t have a reason to lie as they hadn’t promised her anything.

Jessica knew officers had discreetly been looking into a situation such as the MP himself being involved but hadn’t come up with anything. It was an awkward thing to examine because they would need a warrant to look at items like bank records, phone logs or emails and, at least until the current moment, the situation hadn’t reached that far. Even if they did get that paperwork, they all knew the politician would have had to be pretty careless to leave a trail. The chief inspector said he would ask DSI Aylesbury what he thought but even that was complicated as he was apparently friends with George Johnson. The priority was still to track down the red van that had been parked outside the gates. Reynolds said they had a likely make and model, which would be shared with the media, but that trying to go via the Royal Mail’s own records of vehicles sold wasn’t getting them anywhere as the files were so patchy across the different areas. All in all, the inspector was undeniably correct when he pointed out that everyone was struggling.

The following morning, Jessica had to go to the school for the careers day. She had found out the previous evening that she was expected to give some sort of talk, which might have been useful information to have had a few weeks ago.

It was a late-morning start at the school and, just before she was getting ready to leave the station, news came through via the desk sergeant that magistrates had remanded both Erica and Jordan. In the end, their legal teams hadn’t objected to the refusal of bail, which meant there wouldn’t be any appeal against the decision either.

While that had been going on, it had been more or less accepted that neither were credible suspects to have left the hands. Apart from the cash relating to the first burglary, nothing of note had been found at their house and no connection had been found between either of them and the missing victims. Jessica left Rowlands working through the list of almost a hundred college-leavers to find as much information as possible on each one. A lot of the basics had already been discovered, such as current addresses, but there were still a few they hadn’t had time to look into.

The school wasn’t far from the station and Jessica decided she would walk, hopefully giving her time to figure out what she was going to say. Her own primary school had been one of two in the Cumbrian town she lived in. All of the children on one half of town went to one, while the other school housed the rest. It led to some very competitive sports days but, as there was only one high school, they all ended up going to the same place in the end.

Jessica walked through the school gates into a reception area where a secretary told her she would have to have her identification checked for security purposes. Along with the huge metal railings that ran around the perimeter of the building, it was certainly a change from the school she had gone to. The district it was in wasn’t one of the best in the city but it was nothing compared to some of the ones you read about. Despite that, there was still a metal-detecting gate just inside the doors and a table on either side where bag searches were carried out.

The receptionist finally put her phone down and gave Jessica back her identification. A few moments later a woman came into the area. She had short black hair and walked quickly, almost as if the speed she moved at had to be ruthlessly efficient. She was wearing a bright green cardigan, which clashed with a navy-blue knee-length skirt, and she stretched out a hand for Jessica to shake. The woman introduced herself as the deputy head teacher and led Jessica up a set of stairs to the staff room. The overwhelming smell of coffee drifted from the room as Jessica sat on a low material-backed chair, turning down a hot drink.

When she had made herself a cup of tea, the teacher sat opposite her and started. ‘The students you’re here to speak to are all in year six and in their last few weeks at this school. They head off to secondary school in September. They’re all either ten or eleven years old so shouldn’t give you too much trouble. They’re at that age where they have enough of an attention span as long as you only talk for five or ten minutes but not at the point where the hormones have gone crazy.’

‘What’s with all the security gates downstairs?’ Jessica asked.

The woman shrugged sadly. ‘A sign of the times. Some year five pupil brought a knife to school eighteen months ago and threatened another child. I don’t think he even knew the damage he could do. The governors decided every student should have to pass through a metal detector on their way in now and we have to pay for security guards to stand around.’

‘That’s just . . . wrong.’ Jessica meant the situation, not the fact the scanners had been put in but the teacher knew what she was getting at.

‘I couldn’t agree more but it’s one of those things. It will be everywhere in a few years.’

‘How does today work then?’

After another sip of her tea, the teacher continued. ‘We’ve organised someone from a different profession to come in every day this week and again next week. There are around forty students. You just need to talk for a few minutes about what you do. Obviously you know the children are still quite young so please don’t be too explicit. We had a fire marshal in yesterday and a journalist is coming tomorrow. The day after that, we’ve got a local author. We’ve got a doctor and a chef next week. It’s not really to get them thinking about jobs specifically – more about the types of thing they like doing. They have to start choosing school subjects to focus on in a while, so it’s just to give them something to reflect on over the summer.’