So far no links for any of the three had turned up and the situation with Nigel Collins was even worse. It was as if he had dropped off the face of the earth the day he walked out of hospital. They had checked the housing association records for the address he had been living at when he ended up in hospital but the association said he never returned. There were forty-seven Nigel Collinses living in the country and a team was currently working on bringing that number down based on age. It had already been established there were no Nigel Collinses fitting the age bracket living locally. That was the first thing they had checked.

‘Great,’ Jessica said, before telling the officer she was on her way back with Cole.

Jessica told their taxi driver they were both CID and that she was giving him her permission to do whatever it took to get them back to the police station as soon as possible. Cole simply raised an eyebrow as if to point out she couldn’t authorise speeding in a private vehicle like that but she wasn’t bothered. The driver was good and, after they arrived, she gave him a twenty-pound note without asking for a receipt or change and ran into reception.

There was no particular reason for the hurry – the team knew what they were doing and there wasn’t an awful lot more she could add. Jessica wanted to feel part of things now they finally had a lead they had waited so long for and bounded past the front desk, past her office and onto the main floor where . . . everything seemed normal. Officers were on the phone and doing their jobs. She didn’t know why she thought things would be different just because they were onto something.

Rowlands approached her. ‘All right?’

‘Yeah, what’s going on?’

He told her that one of their three Scotts had been ruled out. Scott Barry had been found. He and his family had moved to a place in the Bristol area not long after he had finished school. He had become an auctioneer and one officer had struck lucky simply by searching for his name on the Internet. A quick phone call had established he was the person they were looking for and that his parents were alive and well living in Portugal.

That left Scott Hesketh and Scott Harris to track down. Apparently police officers had been to both addresses given on the school records. At the address they had for Scott Harris, there was no answer but the house was registered to a Paul and Mary Keegan according to the land deeds. At the other, whoever had answered said they had never heard of anybody with the last name ‘Hesketh’. The occupants had only lived there a few months themselves.

‘Has anyone been able to get hold of James Christensen?’ Jessica asked.

‘What do you think?’

Jessica went upstairs to tell Aylesbury what had happened that morning to find Cole already there. She had given him a reasonable outline over the phone but things still had to be done officially. As they were speaking, a call came through to say they had finally been able to get hold of Yvonne Christensen’s son in Bournemouth. There was nothing sinister going on, he had been in lectures and had his phone off. His classmates would have had quite a spectacle as he was hauled out to be spoken to by police officers.

The call was patched through to the DCI’s phone but he allowed Jessica to take the call. ‘Is that James?’ she asked.

‘Yes, who’s this? No one’s told me anything here.’

‘James, this is Detective Sergeant Jessica Daniel. I’ve been working on the case regarding your mother’s murder.’

‘Oh right,’ the voice said sullenly, then quickly: ‘No one’s hurt my dad, have they?’

‘No, your father’s fine but I have to ask you about something that happened a few years ago.’

‘Okay . . .’

‘Does the name Nigel Collins mean anything to you?’

There was silence.

‘James?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘James, this is very serious. We can come back to Nigel another time but I need to ask about your friend Scott. What was his last name?’

The voice was quavering at the other end of the line. ‘Scott? Oh God . . .’

Jessica spoke quickly, her heart racing. ‘I’m sorry but you have to be calm, okay? Do you remember what Scott’s last name was?’

‘Oh God. Harris. It was Scott Harris. Am I . . . Am I in trouble?’

Jessica handed the phone over to the DCI, who would explain to James that nothing had been decided but he might want to get a lawyer. Jessica bounded down the stairs two at a time, charging through to the main floor where everyone was working.

‘It’s Harris,’ she shouted. ‘Forget Hesketh, find Harris.’

They knew the place he used to live was now owned by a family whose name was Keegan, so finding out where they worked was crucial too. The officer who had knocked on the door had been left outside the property in case anyone returned.

Jessica suddenly had a thought and went to stand behind Rowlands, who was nearby working on a computer. ‘Did someone check the birth, death and marriage details for those names and addresses we had?’ she asked.

‘We got the birth certificates for all three of them.’

‘What about the marriage records?’

‘No, why?’

‘Just check to see if there’s any record of a Harris getting married in the past six or seven years.’ Rowlands put the search into the computer and a list of a few hundred names came up. ‘Now see if any of those Harrises married a Keegan.’

The constable tapped a few more buttons on the keyboard which left them just one name. He used the mouse to double click and bring up the full record but Jessica already knew which address it would throw up.

They’d had a police officer standing outside it for the past two hours.

30

Once they knew the Keegans were the family they were looking for, things moved quickly. Whether he was called Scott Harris or Scott Keegan, the son wasn’t an instant priority. No decision had been made about reopening the Nigel Collins case but, given everything they knew, his parents could be in danger and getting them to safety was the first thing that had to be done. Jessica spoke to the officer at the scene to tell him to try the front door on the off-chance it was open and then to check around the back and look through the windows to see if anything was visible.

They discovered mobile phone numbers for both Mary Keegan – formerly Harris – and Paul Keegan. As she was being driven in a marked car to the house, Jessica tried both numbers. Mary’s rang out with no answer but Paul Keegan answered to her silent relief.

It was now mid-afternoon and Mr Keegan told her he was at work in the council offices. Jessica didn’t explain much but asked if he could return home to meet them. His instant question was: ‘Is everyone all right?’

Jessica had no idea how to answer and didn’t want to lie by giving a definitive ‘yes’, so simply said, ‘We hope so.’ It was a horrible way to reply and Jessica knew the poor guy would be frantic on his way home but there wasn’t much else she could say. At best she would apologise in person if everyone was safe and well.

At worst . . .

The Keegans’ house was once again in the same Gorton area as those of the first three victims. All four properties were within a mile’s radius. The journey wasn’t too far from the station but Jessica kept trying Mary Keegan’s phone over and over. Every time it rang out. The car arrived and parked up on the road outside the Keegans’ house behind the first police car. The officer who had been sent earlier was waiting for them.

‘Any luck?’ Jessica asked, wondering if he had been able to get in or at the very least see something.

‘No. It’s all locked up with the curtains pulled. I noticed a few neighbours taking an interest but nothing.’ Jessica went to walk past him but his next throwaway line sent a chill down her spine. ‘I’ve just been hearing a phone ring inside non-stop for the last ten minutes or so.’