The sound of conversation made him look up. Two mums were jabbering loudly as they pushed their strollers along. Startled, he slunk back deeper into the undergrowth. He waited until they were long gone, before pulling Ruby’s phone from his bag. He did the necessaries, but his mood failed to lift. He couldn’t escape the feeling that significant things were happening – things over which he had no control. Previously he had kept these girls alive safe in the knowledge that no one was even aware they were dead. He had revelled in this freedom and total lack of suspicion. But the discovery of Pippa Briers’ body had changed everything. Now a major murder investigation was under way, led by DI Helen Grace. For the first time in his short life, he now understood what it felt like to be hunted.

68

The two women were virtually eyeball to eyeball, neither backing down. Sanderson didn’t normally do all-out assault, but she was too enraged to back down. DC Lucas clearly felt the same, snarling at Sanderson to ‘get back in her box’.

Sanderson could happily have swung for her colleague. It had been her idea to put the mobile phone companies on alert for any sign of the missing girls’ phone signals and now that this plan had paid off, she was buggered if she was going to stand aside and let DC Lucas run with it. The mobile signals had briefly sprung into life, somewhere on or near Southampton Common and the smart thing to do was to get down there as fast as possible, to canvass witnesses, source CCTV footage, search for any signs of their killer.

‘DS Fortune specifically left me in charge,’ Lucas was saying. ‘If anything significant came up while he was at the beach, I was to handle it.’

Sanderson was about to come back at her, but DC Lucas was not finished yet.

‘And every minute you spend arguing with me reduces the chances of us bagging this guy and bringing Ruby home safe and well. Do you understand, DC Sanderson?’

Lucas had enunciated the syllables of Sanderson’s name deliberately slowly – to underline her point. The eyes of the rest of the team were on her now and there was no way she could continue the fight, without looking irresponsible. With bad grace, she backed down and returned to her desk.

Ever since the investigation had widened to include Roisin Murphy and Isobel Lansley, Sanderson had been busy compiling dossiers on both women, climbing inside their lives to test Helen’s theory about their abduction. She had made good progress but she flicked through the pages listlessly now, still fizzing with anger over her confrontation with Lucas. She had never liked the humourless fast-tracker whose ambition was so ill-concealed, but now she was growing to loathe her. This sort of conflict was unnecessary and counter-productive. It risked turning the team against each other, which could only hamper the investigation. It was outrageous of Lucas to accuse her of risking lives, when she was the one whose ego could prove costly.

Sanderson returned to the task in hand, wrenching her mind away from crucifying Lucas to the important police work in front of her. She mustn’t compromise her own work through anger or bitterness – that wouldn’t be fair to Ruby or Pippa. So she continued to leaf through the files, diligently comparing the life of Roisin – a single mother of Anglo-Irish extraction who lived off benefits in a small flat in Brokenford – with that of Isobel Lansley, a student at Southampton University about whom they knew almost nothing. She had few friends, little money, no jobs or hobbies. All they did know about her was that she lived in a one-bed flat in –

Sanderson stopped in her tracks, her heart suddenly racing. Checking the details again, she skimmed back fast through Roisin’s growing file, searching for the relevant entry. And there it was. The discovery took Sanderson’s breath away.

Finally, they had the break they needed.

69

The three figures stood alone, whipped by the wind that roared in off the Solent. Helen was on one side of the trio, Harwood on the other, with an uncomfortable DS Fortune in between. The two women had hardly spoken to each other since arriving and the atmosphere was tense. Helen got the feeling that Lloyd would rather be anywhere else but here, but that was too bad. This was too important not to have her right-hand man by her side.

The beach had been deserted when they arrived, so securing it wasn’t hard. Given the brief window she’d been allowed, Helen had pulled out all the stops, dragging a dozen uniformed coppers off the beat, so that that the beach could be taped off swiftly and the necessary public notices erected. Nobody was swimming off this beach today.

A POLSA team had been scrambled from Kent Police, making it to Carsholt in under two hours – Helen had impressed upon them the urgency of the situation. They were now at work, the metal detectors, cadaver dogs and ground-penetrating radar scouring the broad expanse of sand for any signs of burial, deposition or human remains. The occasional bleep from the metal detectors was all Helen could hear above the wind.

The beach presented in a very different light from the last time Helen had been here. When they had found Pippa, the weather had been incongruously glorious, the sun beating down on the SOC officers as they’d completed their painstaking forensic work. Today the sun had disappeared behind looming grey clouds, hiding its warmth and cheer from the scene. Even the sea seemed to be getting in on the act, raging and crashing on the surf nearby.

DS Fortune sneaked a look at his watch.

‘How many hours of daylight do we have left?’ Helen asked him.

‘About seven,’ he replied quickly. His voice was clipped, infused with the anxiety of a man serving two masters.

‘Seven hours before we can bring this charade to an end,’ Harwood added. ‘Are you planning on staying down here all day, DI Grace? Or do you have some police work to do?’

‘I’ll stay as long as is necessary,’ Helen replied evenly. She wasn’t going to embarrass herself by squabbling with Harwood in front of a junior officer. ‘After all, we only have limited time.’

Harwood didn’t respond, so Helen took this as her cue, heading down to the water’s edge. Once there she turned, taking in the full panorama of Carsholt beach. Harwood and Fortune were chatting easily – more relaxed now Helen had left them – in sharp contrast to the men and women from Kent, who had worked out a grid and were now combing every inch of it.

Helen felt the tension within her rise as she watched their patient, diligent work.

Had she been too hasty in ordering the search? She had little credit with Chief Constable Fisher and even less with Harwood, so it would be hard now to ask for extra resources later in the investigation, if today’s search proved fruitless. For a moment, Helen berated herself for her characteristic impatience. It was like an obsession for her, the desire to chase down leads, to complete the story, to find out what had happened. Once you climbed inside an investigation of this magnitude and urgency, it was hard to wrench your mind from it, as you constantly checked and double-checked your assumptions to see if there was something you could be doing better or faster. Sleep was hard to come by and it was almost impossible to relax, but that was as it should be. You didn’t come into this line of work for an easy life – you did it because you wanted to make a difference.

Helen snapped out of her daydreaming, because one unit of the POLSA team had suddenly stopped. They weren’t combing any more, they were digging. Helen raced across the sand, making it to the quartet of officers, just before DS Fortune. The look on their faces said it all.