Greg took it from her and read:

  Hi Tim. We’ve been looking for you but we can’t find you. Can you come and get us? We’re in Ormesby.

  ‘Why are you assuming it was delayed?’

  ‘Because it reads like it was written the day they arrived. But it didn’t arrive in Tim’s inbox until yesterday, and then he didn’t notice it until today. It was sent from Anne Mirren’s email address, using 4G. So, with a bit of luck, we’ll be able to find the phone or tablet by checking which towers it pinged while it was sending.’

  ‘Well done, Jill. Do you need some help getting on to that?’

  ‘About that. It occurred to me, I could use Bill working from home. He could do this while still isolating.’

  ‘Good idea. Go ahead, Jill.’

  She hesitated in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry I missed this earlier,’ she said. ‘We could have actioned this earlier if I’d picked up the message.’

  ‘Noted, Jill. But we can’t do everything. You’re on to it now. Has anyone spoken to Tim Simmons yet?’

  ‘I have, over the phone. I’ll go and see him now, once I’ve got Bill started on the phone network providers.

  ‘Let me know as soon as you have a location.’

  28

  2 August 2020 – outskirts of Norwich

  Nick was still reeling in more ways than one. Getting flattened by a wholly unexpected explosion had not been part of his plans. Hearing on the news the following day that someone had died in the blast was also a bit of a bummer. His head still ringing, both from leftover concussion and his wife’s repeated remonstrations about his failure to show up for a family party, he’d heard the BBC Look East announcement with a strong sense of disbelief. He left the room a moment later, ignoring his wife’s shrill complaints, and took refuge in the bathroom. Seconds after that, his phone rang, and it was no surprise to see it was his brother, Ade. He left the call to go to answerphone while he tried to soothe his aching head under the cold-water tap. It did help with the aches and pains. It didn’t do much about the seething thoughts.

  As he took the stairs down two at a time his phone pinged with a message, once, then twice.

  ‘And where d’you think you’re goin’?’ his wife demanded from the sitting room just as he reached the front door.

  ‘Out,’ he said, and made his escape.

  Sitting in his pickup, the doors locked and windows up, he examined his phone. The first ping had been Ade demanding he ring back. The second was the unknown contact on WhatsApp.

  Delivery received. Payment made.

  Hands shaking slightly, Nick checked his banking app. He had just sufficient Wi-Fi signal from the house to log on. Sure enough, his balance had increased by eight thousand pounds. Bit disappointing, given the risks he’d taken. And he still had to pay Ade. If he was going to do this again, it would be with a higher-value target. Otherwise, it just wasn’t worth it. He texted Ade to meet him at the lock-up, and put the pickup in gear.

  Ten minutes later, he was facing a torrent of complaints from his brother that reminded him, uncomfortably, of his wife’s nagging.

  ‘For God’s sake, Ade,’ he said, when he could get a word in edgeways. ‘Stop being such an old woman. Here,’ – he handed over a wedge of notes – ‘a thousand pounds, as we agreed. Not bad for one night’s work.’

  ‘Not nearly enough, given the risks,’ his brother said. ‘You never told me anyone was going to get hurt.’

  ‘Try a bit louder, why don’t you?’ Nick snapped back. ‘I don’t think the old girl three doors down could quite hear that.’

  The two brothers stared at each other, chests heaving, temporarily silent. The familial similarities stood out, the jutting chins and glaring eyes clearly wrought from the same DNA even though hair, height and weight varied.

  Ade started again, only this time a bit quieter. ‘I was OK with a bit of twocking. I didn’t even object to a spot of arson – those rich farming bastards can afford it. But I never signed up for murder.’

  In Nick’s view, Ade was still talking too loud, and he made haste to pull the garage door closed before he turned to answer.

  ‘Grow a pair, Ade,’ he recommended. ‘All you did was transport two vehicles from A to B. All I did was create a distraction and deliver them to you. The rest was in the hands of the gods. Accident or fate. Nothing you need to get your knickers in a twist about. If you don’t want the cash, I’ll have it back.’

  Ade took a step back and pushed the roll of notes into his pocket. ‘I took the risk, I’ll take the money’, he said. ‘But don’t ask me again.’

  ‘As you like,’ said Nick. ‘Now push off. I’ve got things to do.’

  The things included a message to Jacko Green. But he got no answer.

  29

  December 2018 – Ormesby

  Christmas fell on a Tuesday, and for over a week Joanne saw no one at all. She ate party food from Tesco and watched television, read books and examined her, or rather her mother’s, bank account. No, I have to stop thinking that way. My bank account. She was now Joanne Hamilton, retired recluse, and quite well off, thank you. The civil service pension arrived in the bank account every month, without fail, and she was spending so little it was mounting up nicely. She supposed she could maybe take a holiday or move abroad. No, I couldn’t move, ever. Not and leave Frankie behind. But she could have the occasional break from the cold of England and the lonely life.

  But first she needed to do something about the contents of the freezer. She couldn’t go away and risk a power cut exposing what she’d done. She finished her coffee and, gathering her courage around her, went out to the chest freezer in the garage. It took several deep breaths before she was ready to lift the lid. When she did, it was with a convulsive movement, not far removed from panic.

  She peeled back the top bin bag. Over the six months or more that had elapsed, frost had formed on the contents, obscuring all the details of the upturned face. She suppressed a shudder that was now wholly caused by the cold in the garage, and closed the lid again. Then looked round her for inspiration.

  There were a couple of old suitcases and a trunk. She considered, briefly, dismembering the body and dumping the parts into the sea or the Broads but abandoned the idea as too messy and too risky. No, the body will have to be hidden somewhere on the property, but not buried in the garden – there is no way the evil old witch is going to join Frankie under the lawn.

  She was turning to go back into the house for another think and, to be frank, to get warm again, when her eye was caught by an odd round shape in the corner. It looked like a cross between a hatbox and an umbrella stand. She went over to examine it properly, and with a little effort managed to pull it into the centre of the floor. It was about four feet tall and three feet in diameter. It seemed to be made from curved plywood, and she had no idea what its original purpose might have been. Presumably it had stored or transported something, sometime, but Lord knew what. It had, however, given her an idea. She walked round it several times, then went indoors to do some research online.

  Two days later, her order from the hardware superstore arrived: some heavy-duty waste sacks and bags of instant cement.

  ‘You got some DIY planned, missus?’ asked the delivery driver.

  ‘Just a bit,’ she said as she gave him a tip for moving the bags into the garage for her.

  That evening, she pulled heavy gloves on and moved the body out of the freezer. She guessed that if it took a whole day to defrost a turkey, it would be similar for another scrawny old bird.

  In fact, she’d miscalculated badly. It took two days before the body had even defrosted enough to become malleable. She guessed that it was probably still frozen in the middle, but that didn’t matter provided she could bend the arms and legs.

  She took the precaution of covering the narrow window at the back of the garage with an old sheet; then that night, lit only by the single strip light, she laid out the body on the floor by the cylindrical box and compared the relative dimensions by eye.

  It was straightforward enough to fold the arms over the body, and she strapped them in place with an old belt. Folding the legs up was more difficult and, in the end, she had to use quite a lot of force, dislocating the hips in the process. She was breathing heavily by this point, and would have liked to stop for a rest, but didn’t dare leave things half done. She slid the folded body into one of the extra-large refuse sacks then pulled another over from the opposite direction, so they overlapped. She sealed the join with tape, then did the same thing again twice more. That would have to do. She stepped back with her hand on the ache in the small of her back and thought the bags should be sufficient to contain any liquid.

  The next step was easier. She laid the plywood cylinder on its side and, with some help from a sack barrow, managed to push the wrapped body inside. Some screwed-up newspaper helped wedge it in place, then she tipped the whole thing upright. Using the sack barrow again, the final step was to move it into the garden and position it, like a truncated column, near the back fence. She stepped back to survey the effect, then hurried to fetch the large, shallow planter that was to form the lid. With that in position, she felt she could breathe again.

  The following day she started on the concrete. A couple of bags at a time, she layered it up the side of the cylinder then left it to cure. By the end of the week, her garden had acquired a concrete column supporting a planter containing cascading plants. At this time of year, they were all foliage plants, but later, she thought, she could add colour. A fitting, if wordless, tribute to her son.

  30

  3 August 2020 – Norfolk police HQ

  Greg arrived at work in a bad temper, slamming his car door and stomping into the office. The black cloud over his head was almost visible.

  ‘Whoa,’ said Jim, watching his approach through the window of the incident room. ‘Storm clouds on the horizon. I recommend caution and heads down.’ Behind him, Jill was on the phone, Steve was clutching his usual giant mug of coffee and Jenny was just taking her jacket off.

  ‘The boss?’ asked Jenny.

  ‘Yup,’ said Jim. ‘Looks like a bull amongst bumble bees. If he gets any hotter under the collar his shirt’s going to burst into flame.’

  ‘Nice mix of metaphors,’ remarked Jenny. ‘And you can tell all that from here?’

  ‘Mark my words—’ Jim started, but at that point the door flew open so hard it bounced off the wall and swung back, nearly hitting Greg in the face.

  ‘Morning,’ he said. And went straight to his office.

  ‘See,’ said Jim to the room at large, and headed for the coffee machine.

  A judicious ten minutes later he pushed Greg’s office door open and put a mug of strong black coffee on his desk. ‘Bad start?’ he asked. Then added into the silence, ‘Is there something I need to know?’

  ‘No,’ said Greg rather shortly. Then he took a breath and with an obvious effort said, ‘Sorry, Jim. That’s part of the problem – no news. I’m just so frustrated we haven’t found those children. It should be simple, but it isn’t. Then an arsonist on the top … it’s getting to me, I suppose. On top of all that, Chris and I came this close to having words this morning…’ He held up a finger and thumb just a fraction of an inch apart. ‘And I hate being at odds with her. I nearly got one of her creative insults,’ he added with a wry smile.

  ‘What did you do?’ asked Jim.

  ‘I suppose I was banging on about Suffolk police,’ Greg admitted. ‘No, if I’m honest, there’s no suppose about it. I was banging on about Suffolk and their inability to respond to hot tip-offs. Chris felt obliged to defend her colleagues, and it went from there. Plus, I was meant to be having today off. We had plans. But there’s no way I can take time off at the moment.’

  ‘Chris understands that, I’m sure,’ said Jim,

  ‘Yes, she does, but it doesn’t stop us both being disappointed and … oh never mind, Jim. Let’s not dwell on it. We have a lot to do, and the sooner we get on, the sooner we might get a bit of life back. I need to shift some of this.’ He gestured at the pile of paper on his desk. ‘Then let’s put our heads together about next steps on the arson case.’

  As Jim was leaving the office, Greg called him back. ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘I have had one thought. Can we pick Jacko Green up again?’

  ‘He was charged with hunting a wild mammal with a dog and with permitting a dog to be used for hunting and released pending a hearing at the magistrates’ court. God knows when that will be. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find him,’ replied Jim.

  ‘I’d like a chat with the other two blokes involved in the hare-coursing incident as well.’ Greg scrabbled in the pile of papers. ‘One was Mick O’Hanlon and the other was Nick something.’

  ‘Nick Waters,’ Jim said. ‘I’ll get the word out. Do you want them in here when we find them?’

  ‘Yes, Jim. Thanks. We’ll interview them together.’

  A few hours later, just as Greg was starting to think about lunch, Jim returned with the welcome news that Jacko Green was in Interview Room 1, and that Nick Waters was on his way in the back of a squad car.

  ‘Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to get hold of Mick O’Hanlon,’ said Jim. ‘We found him at the travellers’ camp in Broadlands, but the two constables attending were unable to get onto site. They were stopped by a homemade roadblock and the news that the camp had Covid and was self-isolating.’

  ‘How very convenient,’ remarked Greg. ‘OK. We’ll have to live with that for now. We don’t have enough for an arrest warrant. But let’s keep a discreet eye on it. If they suddenly stop isolating, we might need to seize the opportunity and grab him while we can.

  ‘Let’s have that chat with Jacko Green, and by the time we’ve finished with him Mr Waters should be here.’

  Jacko was righteously indignant. ‘What now?’ he demanded before they had fairly got into the room. ‘You’ve already charged me with hare coursing. What more d’you want? You’re just picking on me now. Just because I have a lurcher, I’m suddenly public enemy number one, is that it? I tell you, that dog is as mild and gentle as a … as a…’ He was lost for a simile and Greg seized the opportunity to step in.

  ‘Just a few questions, Jacko,’ he said. ‘If you’ve kept your nose clean, you’ve nothing to worry about. But I think we’ll do this under caution, just in case.’

  ‘Am I under arrest?’ demanded Jacko, leaning his elbows on the table in front of him. ‘Because if so, I want my brief.’

  ‘You didn’t have one last time we had a chat,’ remarked Jim. ‘You refused one. Are you expecting trouble today?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant. I’m entitled, aren’t I?’

  ‘You’re not under arrest, anyway,’ said Greg. ‘At least, not yet. So, do you want a solicitor or don’t you? We can sit around and wait for one, if that’s your choice, or we can get on with it and you can answer a few questions. As I said, if you’ve stayed on the straight and narrow, you’ll be free to go that much sooner.’

  The number of expressions flitting over Jacko’s face illustrated the difficulty of thought, then he came to a decision. ‘OK, let’s get on with it,’ he said.

  Jim switched the recorder on, and Greg administered the caution.

  ‘OK, we’re good to go,’ he said to Jacko, who was currently engaged in picking his nose then inspecting the result on the end of his finger. ‘Where did you go on Friday after you were released from custody?’

  ‘Home, a’course.’

  ‘What time did you get there?’

  ‘Latish, thanks to your lot being very slow and stupid about letting me go,’ said Jacko.

  ‘How late?’

  ‘Don’t know exactly. Around nine or ten, I think. The news was on when I got in,’ he added.

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘I had a few beers and went to bed.’

  ‘Down the pub or at home?’ asked Jim.

  ‘At home. The pub just isn’t the same after all the Covid stuff. Miserable bastards,’ he added. Jim assumed he meant the government.

  ‘Can anyone vouch for you being at home?’

  ‘Ma and Dad were in,’ he said. ‘They’ll tell you I was there.’

  ‘But they couldn’t vouch for you being in all night, I assume?’ said Greg.

  ‘They’ll tell you when I went up to bed, because I watched the late film with me old dad, and I ’spect the old girl will bang on about having to get me out of bed in the mornin’,’ said Jacko. ‘She’s always moanin’ about that. Just cuz she wakes early, she thinks everyone should bounce out of bed at sparrow’s fart.’ He shook his head at the unreasonableness of her attitude. ‘Hang on,’ he said suddenly. ‘Why’re you askin’ me about Friday night? You’re not trying to pin that explosion on me, are you? I was home. I was nowhere near there. I’m not having this!’ He stood up to go.

  ‘Just a moment, Jacko,’ said Greg. ‘I told you at the start, if you’re clean, you have nothing to worry about. So why don’t you sit down again?’

  ‘No way,’ said Jacko. ‘You’re trying to set me up.’

  ‘Just the opposite, actually,’ said Greg. ‘I’m giving you the chance to prove it wasn’t you, so we don’t need to bother you again.’

  Jacko sat down again, slowly and reluctantly.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Greg. ‘You see, even if you weren’t directly involved with the arson at the farm, and I have to say it doesn’t seem your sort of thing, you must admit that arson attacks seem to follow you around. First there’s one at Welsh Farm, shortly after you’re there for a hare-coursing event. Then there’s another last Friday, just after you come out of custody. Now, if it wasn’t you, then perhaps it was one of your mates. Mick O’Hanlon, say, or Nick Waters? They were both at Welsh Farm, weren’t they?’

  ‘No comment,’ said Jacko.