‘You’re the detective, Mr Bolt. That’s for you to find out, isn’t it? I’m just a businessman.’

‘Someone helped Leonard Hope escape our surveillance team. We suspect whoever helped him then killed him.’

‘You have a Frank Keogh working for you,’ said Mo. ‘Can you tell us what he does?’

Hanzha turned in his seat and glared at Mo, a barely suppressed anger in the expression, almost as if Mo was the one responsible for the death of his daughter. ‘Why are you asking about people who may or may not work for me? What has this got to do with anything?’

‘It’s just a simple question, Mr Hanzha,’ said Bolt, knowing he had to be careful here.

‘Tell me why you ask.’

‘Because he has a conviction for manslaughter, has links to organized crime, and we believe he may have had something to do with Leonard Hope’s disappearance.’

‘And do you have any evidence to back up this claim?’ demanded Hanzha, sounding as if he genuinely didn’t believe a word of what Bolt was saying.

Bolt didn’t have a scrap of evidence, but he wasn’t going to admit to that. ‘We can’t discuss that. We just need to know whether or not he works for you.’

‘And I can’t discuss that. You want to continue this conversation, you talk to my lawyers. I thought you were coming here to keep me informed of progress on the case to find my daughter’s killer, not question me about affairs that have nothing to do with any of this.’

‘Mr Hanzha, we’re just trying to find out what happened to Leonard Hope,’ said Bolt, attempting to smooth things over.

‘Listen to me, both of you.’ He pointed a finger at them. ‘I have no idea who killed Leonard Hope, although I am glad he’s dead. He brutalized my daughter. Raped her, tortured her. Painted signs on the wall in her blood.’ He gesticulated angrily with his hands. ‘I hope he rots in Hell for all eternity.’

‘I have no doubt he will,’ said Bolt.

Hanzha got to his feet. For him, the interview was over.

Bolt and Mo followed suit. They both knew there was no way they were going to get anything else out of him now, but that didn’t matter. Bolt had already heard what he needed to.

‘I heard that there were two killers,’ said Hanzha, as he led them back through the house. ‘That’s what some of the newspapers have been saying. How do you know it wasn’t the other killer who got rid of Hope?’

‘The two-killer theory is a line of inquiry,’ Bolt told him. ‘But we’re not convinced of it yet. If there is a second killer, we’ll find him and bring him to justice.’

Hanzha let out a vaguely derisive grunt. ‘If there is a second killer, I am surprised that, between them, they didn’t manage to kill the woman who disturbed them murdering my daughter. What was her name again?’

‘Amanda Rowan. It seems she’s a very resilient woman.’

‘Very,’ said Hanzha, and there was something malicious and sceptical in the way he spoke the word. ‘Almost unbelievably so.’

Bolt frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Hanzha shrugged. ‘I’m just very surprised she got away. That’s all.’

They were at the front door now. Hanzha opened it and stepped to one side.

‘Thank you for your time, Mr Hanzha. Once again, let me reiterate how sorry we are for your loss.’

‘You came a long way just to tell me that.’ Something in his expression seemed to dare Bolt and Mo to accuse him of wrongdoing.

But Bolt simply nodded and turned away.

Neither he nor Mo spoke on the way back to the car. It was only when Mo had started the engine that Bolt turned to him. ‘Did you notice what Hanzha said?’

Mo smiled. ‘Course I did. I’ve been a detective a long time, boss. His problem is that he’s too arrogant. “Painted signs on the wall in her blood.” That’s what he said, wasn’t it?’

‘Exactly. We never released that information. The only way he could have known about it is if he had someone on the inside.’

‘And if he had someone on the inside, he could easily have organized Leonard Hope’s abduction and murder.’

‘He did,’ said Bolt. ‘There’s no question of that. No one else could have pulled it off, and he’s got the resources.’

‘But you saw him in there. The guy’s as hard as rock. He’s not going to admit a thing, and you can bet he kept a long way from the whole affair.’

‘That’s as may be, but someone tortured Hope, and if we can lift some of the killer’s DNA from his corpse, we might strike lucky.’ But Bolt wasn’t at all sure he believed it. So far, SOCO hadn’t managed to secure any DNA from the murder scene that would point a finger at Hope’s killer, and once again he felt the familiar frustration that had haunted him throughout this whole inquiry.

He and Mo were silent as they drove through Hanzha’s perfectly manicured lawns and out of his grand estate.

Finally Mo said: ‘Even if we know Hanzha was responsible for Hope’s murder, that still doesn’t tell us what the DNA of a separate killer was doing at the Rowan house. Someone else was involved in the murder of George Rowan and Ivana Hanzha, but who?’

Bolt sighed. ‘I still think we’re looking at this the wrong way. It was odd what Hanzha was saying about Amanda Rowan, wasn’t it? You know, talking sarcastically about how resilient she was.’

Mo looked startled. ‘You don’t think she did it, do you, boss?’

‘No, but I’m beginning to wonder if she knows more than she’s letting on. Now seems a very opportune moment to pay her a visit.’

It was only a few minutes after the two detectives had left that Keogh called Vladimir Hanzha to tell him that the Amanda Rowan snatch had gone wrong.

Hanzha could barely contain his anger. This should have been an easy, straightforward job, but Keogh had managed to make a mess of things. Hanzha had warned him to make good his mistake or face the consequences but, in reality, he’d already decided to rid himself of the scar-faced Englishman. Keogh had worked for him for more than three years and, although he’d always been a loyal and competent employee, he knew far too much about his boss for Hanzha to allow him to retire in peace. Keogh was going to have to disappear, especially now that the police had his name.

It didn’t surprise Hanzha that the police had suspicions that he was behind the abduction and murder of Leonard Hope. They would never prove it, though. The authorities in the UK were soft and tied up with all kinds of rules and regulations. A man with enough money and cunning could always stay one step ahead of them.

He put down the phone and walked back through the house, staring out of the window at the grounds of his estate in silence. For years he’d given his estranged daughter little thought, but since her murder she’d rarely been out of his mind, and he wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t as if he missed her – they hadn’t spoken in so long he had to work hard even to remember the sound of her voice. But she was still his daughter, and someone had taken her from him. Such an act made him lose face, and a man like Vladimir Hanzha couldn’t afford to lose face. He wanted revenge on those who’d crossed him.

And by the end of tonight he was going to get it.

Forty-two

Today 21.00

THE WIND BLEW hard across the exposed hills as Jess and Amanda trudged upwards towards the first of the rolling peaks.

Jess was shattered. Her legs felt like lead and her breathing was coming in short, hollow rasps. Once again, she checked the phone the stranger had given her. Once again, there was no reception. Pausing for a moment, she turned and looked back towards the long winding road as it disappeared into the distance. Behind the road, the forest spread like a great black carpet as it arched down towards the river. Casey was in there somewhere, lost and alone. The thought made Jess’s heart lurch. She felt sick that she was leaving Casey to fend for herself, and furious that she couldn’t get a phone signal, however high she climbed. What was wrong with this place? It was like the fucking Stone Age . . .