‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said, her voice softer now, the memories giving her a glow that had been missing for most of the journey. ‘I’m thinking about it too much.’ Then she looked at Joe. ‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘Are you with someone?’

He pursed his lips, noncommittal. ‘Nothing serious,’ he said.

Laura was surprised. ‘Why do you keep it quiet?’

‘It’s easier that way,’ he said, and the way that he concentrated harder on the road told Laura that the conversation about Joe’s private life had just ended.

Laura joined him in the silence and saw that the town was starting to peter out, but then Joe pulled to a stop in front of an old detached house, with a wooden bay window painted white at the front, next to a sea-green front door, art deco in style. The bottom half was redbrick, but the upper floor was rendered and painted white. The front bedroom window was large and gave views over the beach, and as she looked up, she saw the reflections of gulls as they floated over the sea.

‘Rupert Barker’s house?’ she asked.

‘If he has kept his driving documents up to date,’ Joe said, reaching for the car door handle. ‘It’s Doctor Barker, remember. You don’t want to offend him.’

Laura had made some calls on the way, to get some background on their reluctant witness. As they stepped onto the pavement, Laura said, ‘His feelings don’t matter. I need to be quick,’ and when Joe looked at her, she added, ‘We’re sending Bobby to London, because of the van that tried to run me down. I want to get back to say goodbye.’

‘Well, we’re here now, so let’s hope he doesn’t waste our time,’ Joe said. ‘He could easily pretend he knows nothing, and then we get nothing.’

‘I’ve got the touch,’ she said, smiling. The coastal freshness landed deep into her nostrils as she took a deep breath, the sea giving the breeze some extra bite. It felt good though, a different air to the dampness of Turners Fold, and a long way from the fume-clogged oppression of London.

She made it first to the gate, and she reached into her pocket for her identification as she approached the front door and gave the door bell a jab. As it rang loudly inside, she turned back to the sea view again. She made a mental note to bring Bobby to Cleveleys. They had passed a small fairground earlier on, and the shops sold the right mix of ice-creams and toys. He could ride his bike along the seafront.

Joe joined her at the door.

‘No reply?’ he asked.

‘His car’s here,’ she said, and pointed towards the Volvo parked on the driveway. Laura turned and gave the bell another push.

‘He may have realised who we are and is hiding in the kitchen,’ she said.

Joe stepped back and looked up. ‘There’s no one peeping out behind the curtains. See if you can hear anything through the letter box, like a television or something.’

Laura bent forward and creaked open the flap of the letter box. She listened carefully but couldn’t hear anything, apart from the mewing of a cat.

‘No, nothing,’ she said, and then turned to let it close. As she did so, she paused. She had sensed something, although she wasn’t sure what. Just a hint that something wasn’t right. She opened the flap again.

‘What is it?’ Joe said.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking around, trying to work out what had flicked the switch in her mind. Then she saw it. ‘There’s a grocery bag on the side, only half-unpacked, and I can see a carton of milk. It’s a warm day. You wouldn’t leave that out. And a cat keeps on coming into the hall, looking skittish.’

‘Is that it?’

Laura straightened and looked at Joe. ‘No, it’s not just that. It’s a feeling, intuition, call it what you want.’

Joe chewed on his lip. ‘Try the door.’

Laura reached up for the door knob, and when she turned it and pushed, the door swung open slowly.

Laura looked at Joe and raised her eyebrows.

‘If he’s hiding, we might as well find him,’ Joe said, and stepped into the hallway.

As Laura followed him, she thought she could hear the drip of a tap. The cat bounded into the hall again, it’s tail thick.

The hallway went past the stairs and towards the kitchen at the back of the house, with two doors going off to the left. As Joe went past the living room, he gave the door a push, and as it swung open, Laura saw that there was no one inside. There was just a sofa and a television, bookshelves lining the alcove formed by the chimney breast, filled with the orange spines of Penguin first editions.

Laura stepped around Joe and went towards the kitchen. She looked inside the bag. ‘There’s some meat in here too,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t it go in the fridge?’ She stepped out of the kitchen. ‘Doctor Barker?’ she shouted, but there was no response.

Joe stepped past her, and then he pointed towards the back door. ‘There’s a broken pane there,’ he said, and then pointed downwards. ‘There’s glass on the floor.’

‘We need to be careful where we go then,’ she said. ‘If something has happened here, we don’t want to mess up the forensics.’ She saw that the door to the second room was slightly ajar, and so she tapped the bottom of the door with her foot. It swung open with a creak, and the room came into view. No one there.

She retreated along the hall. ‘Doctor Barker?’ she shouted again, and then she turned towards the stairs. As she looked up, she said, ‘Oh shit!’

‘What is it?’

Laura pointed upwards.

Rupert Barker was lying across the landing, his face looking down the stairs, clearly dead. And there was a piece of cloth sticking out between his bloated cheeks.

Chapter Forty

As Jack arrived home, he saw that there was someone waiting for him, pacing up and down. He was young, early twenties perhaps, dressed in a cream shirt hanging loose over denims. He watched Jack as he stepped out of the car.

Jack approached the visitor carefully, who seemed nervous, with some bruising around his cheek, his nose lopsided, as if it had been knocked to one side. ‘Can I help you?’ Jack said, as he got closer.

‘Jack Garrett?’ he said.

Jack nodded.

‘I’m Adam Carter, Jane Roberts’ boyfriend,’ he said, and then his eyes filmed over as he corrected himself. ‘Ex-boyfriend, that is.’

Jack studied him for a few seconds, and from the way that he looked at the floor to compose himself, he guessed that he wasn’t there to cause trouble.

‘Look, if you’re here to cause a scene, I just write stories,’ Jack said. ‘I’m not the villain.’

Adam nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said, and then held out his hands. ‘Don’t worry, that’s not why I’m here. I’ve had enough trouble already.’

Jack pointed towards the bruising. ‘Jane’s father?’

He nodded. ‘How did you know?’

‘It seems like his style, and he’s not exactly your biggest fan,’ Jack said. ‘When did it happen?’

Adam’s shoulders slumped. ‘Last night.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It made you come here.’

Adam thought about that for a few seconds, and then said, ‘He wanted to know what I’d told the police. I told him that I’d answered their questions.’

‘And that got you a black eye and a bust nose?’

Adam shrugged. ‘He asked me to prove where I was on the night she disappeared, and so I told him, that I was waiting behind the Black Bull for her to turn up, because we had to do this subterfuge thing, where she had to slink around trying to get to me without being caught. He didn’t like it when I said that if he had been less strict with her, she would still be alive, because she wouldn’t have been out on her own.’ He rubbed his cheek. ‘That’s when the punch came.’

‘Don is hurting,’ Jack said.

‘What, so I should cut him some slack?’ Adam said, his voice rising a notch. ‘Why the hell should I? What have I done wrong, except love his daughter? And what is he doing to help find her killer?’ He stepped closer. ‘Nothing, that’s what, except attack me. What good will that do?’