Greg noticed that, just as the last time Mick O’Hanlon was mentioned, Jacko started shaking. Greg and Jim exchanged glances.

  ‘Never mind,’ said. Jim. ‘We can ask Mick when he gets here. And Nick Waters too.’

  Jacko looked up. ‘Now don’t you drop me in it with Mick,’ he said. ‘Not unless you want another body on your hands.’

  ‘So Mick was involved with the explosion,’ said Jim.

  ‘I never said that! No. That’s not what I meant. I just meant that Mick has a nasty temper, and I don’t want him turning it on me. Big hands too.’ And he shuddered.

  ‘You’re afraid of Mick O’Hanlon?’ said Jim.

  ‘Too right, I am. And so would you be if he’d ever thumped you.’

  ‘Let’s talk about Nick Waters then,’ said Greg. ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘No comment,’ said Jacko.

  Jim banged his hands on the table theatrically. ‘Well, that’s it then,’ he said. ‘If you won’t talk, we’ll just have to ask Mick what you’ve been up to with him.’

  ‘Now hold on, DI Henning,’ Greg intervened. ‘We can’t expect Jacko here to stick his neck out with someone like Mick O’Hanlon. On the other hand, if he won’t talk about Mick, we can expect him to talk about Nick Waters. That would be fair, wouldn’t it?’

  Jacko was looking from Jim to Greg and back again, as though watching tennis. He nodded eagerly. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I don’t know much, really I don’t. But I did get this message yesterday from Nick…’ He fumbled in his pocket then drew out a phone in a battered case. ‘Here. Look!’ He flicked through a couple of screens then held out his phone. It was a WhatsApp message, apparently from Nick Waters.

  Job 4 u. Meet same place tom?

  ‘Who’s Tom?’ asked Greg.

  ‘He means tomorrow,’ said Jacko with a hint of a sneer.

  ‘And the place?’

  ‘A lay-by outside Acle. Near the river. That’s all I have,’ he repeated. ‘Now I want to go. Arrest me or I walk out.’

  ‘OK, OK.’ Greg held his hands up. ‘You can go. But don’t leave the country, will you?’

  ‘Like I would,’ said Jacko. ‘Full of foreigners, ain’t it, abroad.’ Jim held the door open for him, and he slouched out of the room. First checking there was an officer waiting outside to see Jacko off the premises, Jim returned to his seat.

  Greg was staring at the ceiling. ‘Not sure where we’re going with this, Jim,’ he said. ‘Forgive me if I think aloud for a bit.

  ‘What do we know? Jacko was involved in the hare coursing but probably not with the arson on either occasion. He is probably up to something, but it isn’t starting fires. He’s terrified of Mick O’Hanlon and has some connections with Nick Waters.’

  ‘Mick is as thick as a workhouse butty and a bully,’ said Jim. ‘I can well believe he’d beat the shit out of anyone who upset him, but arson seems a bit too complicated for him. It involves planning for a start, and Mick is all fists and no brains.’

  ‘What about the Waters chap? What do we know about him?’

  ‘Not a lot, really,’ said Jim. ‘Last time we interviewed him, Jacko said Nick organised the hare coursing, but we can’t prove it. All we have is Jacko’s accusation, and Nick’s wife is emphatic he was at home that evening so it’s Jacko’s word against hers. ANPR hasn’t picked up any vehicle registered to Waters anywhere near the farm that evening, and we have no forensics that tie him to it either. Not yet, anyway.'

  ‘Could be driving round with false plates,’ said Greg.

  ‘Very likely,’ said Jim. ‘But we still need to catch him at it.’

  ‘And the message Jacko just showed us?’

  ‘Given Jacko’s favourite pastimes, I’d say either we’re looking at another hare-coursing event or Waters is wanting a driver.’

  ‘That would fit with the possible Felixstowe connection,’ agreed Greg. ‘But it doesn’t seem possible that it was Jacko driving the Range Rover away from Silfield on Friday. God, I do wish Suffolk had attended that location!’

  ‘Now let’s not go there again,’ said Jim hastily. ‘Nick Waters must be here by now.’

  ‘True. Let’s take a short break, and then see what we can get from him.’

  ***

  Renewed both by a tuna sandwich and a quick telephone conversation with Chris, during which each had apologised to the other, Greg returned to Interview Room 1. Jim was waiting outside, chatting with the uniformed constable who’d brought Waters in.

  ‘Did you get a look in the lock-up?’ he was asking.

  ‘No, sir. He was just locking the shutter door when we arrived. I had no reason to ask him to open it up again, so I just brought him on here.’ The young officer was uneasy that he had made a mistake.

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Jim. ‘I just thought that if you’d had an opportunity to look around, it would be interesting to know what he’s got in there. I don’t think we were aware he’s got a lock-up.’

  ‘No. I don’t think he was too pleased to be picked up there,’ said the constable. ‘We went to his home address originally but he wasn’t there, and when we asked his wife where we might find him, she pointed us at the lock-up. I think she was pretty cheesed off with him about something,’ he added.

  Greg and Jim went into the interview room and sat down at the table. Nick Waters was sitting on the far side, his back to the window high in the wall behind him. He was neatly dressed in shirt and jeans but was sweating more than the temperature justified, and when Greg looked closely, there seemed to be bruising both on the side of his face and on the arm that showed below the short sleeve. Greg glanced round at the uniformed officer still in the corner of the room.

  ‘I wonder if Mr Waters might like a tea,’ he said.

  ‘Already offered him one,’ said the officer, ‘but he said no.’

  ‘I’m good,’ growled Nick. ‘And I’d like to get out of here without wasting any time.’

  Greg nodded to the officer that he could go as Jim switched the recording equipment on. ‘OK, fine by us,’ he said. ‘I just thought you looked a bit under the weather. Where did you get those bruises?’

  ‘What bruises? Oh, these? Walked into the bathroom door,’ he said.

  ‘Bit unimaginative,’ said Greg. ‘Can’t you do any better than that? Now, if you’d said your wife had clouted you, I might have believed you, judging from how cross she seemed to be this morning.’ He paused. Nick remained silent. ‘Nothing to say?’ asked Greg.

  ‘Didn’t think you’d asked me a question,’ said Nick.

  ‘How about this one? Just so you’re clear, question coming up, Mr Waters. Where were you on Friday night?’

  ‘Out with mates,’ said Waters.

  ‘Out where?’

  ‘Just round and about,’ said Waters. ‘Don’t expect me to get anyone into trouble with these mad Covid rules.’

  ‘So, no corroboration then,’ said Greg. ‘OK, what time did you get home?’

  ‘Around twelve, twelve-thirty, I guess,’ said Waters.

  ‘And will your irritable wife confirm that?’

  ‘S’pose so. You’ll have to ask her, won’t you?’

  ‘We will, believe me on that,’ said Greg. ‘Where were you on Saturday morning?’

  ‘Still home. Then … let me see … I think I went down to my lock-up to do some work on my car.’

  ‘That would be the pickup you drove to the hare-coursing incident at Welsh Farm in June?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘And if we told you we had your vehicle on camera near the A11 on the night of the thirty-first of July?’

  ‘I’d say you were mistaken, or lying,’ replied Waters.

  Greg looked at him for a long silent moment. Despite the calm denial, he looked, if anything, even sweatier, and Greg had a strong feeling that they were on to something. On the other hand, it was true, he was lying. For now, he had no data from the ANPR cameras that implicated Waters.

  ‘What were you doing at your lock-up today?’ asked Greg, changing tack.

  ‘Minding my own business. Pity you can’t say the same,’ replied Waters.

  Greg glanced at Jim, who took up the thread. ‘Let’s go back a bit, to the first of June. What were you doing that evening?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Waters. ‘Too long ago. I expect I was at home watching the TV like the rest of the country.’

  ‘And the seventeenth of July?’

  ‘Same, I expect.’

  An hour later, repeated questions had elicited nothing more useful and Waters was starting to look both more impatient and more comfortable.

  ‘If that’s all you’ve got, you’re wasting my time and yours,’ he said eventually. ‘Either arrest me, or I’m off.’ He stood up to go.

  Jim and Greg exchanged a glance, then Greg shuffled his papers together. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Waters,’ he said. ‘Inspector Henning will see you out.’

  Back in his office, Greg dropped the paperwork on his desk with a sigh and stretched to the ceiling to work some of the kinks out of his backbone. He heard the door behind him open and said, without turning, ‘Well that was a waste of time.’

  ‘Sorry, Boss,’ said Jill’s voice. ‘I’ve got something you need to know about, but if it’s a bad time…’

  ‘No, sorry, Jill, I thought you were Jim. What’ve you got?’

  ‘That email from the children… The signal pinged a couple of towers and places the location in Ormesby.’

  ‘Only two? Not three?’

  ‘’Fraid so.’

  ‘So not enough for a definitive triangulation?’

  ‘Well, it does give us Ormesby and probably the centre. So, can I go and get a proper look at Ms Hamilton’s place?’

  ‘Not without her permission, no. Sorry, Jill, I realise you’re excited about this, but we already knew the children had been in Ormesby around that time. I don’t think this moves us forward. And it certainly isn’t enough for a warrant in the face of someone shielding from Covid!’

  31

  4 August 2020

  Diana Grain, Jill’s partner, was worried on two counts. First, she was, of course, worried about the young girl she’d taught until Covid had messed up schools and the child’s parents had messed up her life. Karen and Jake were at the forefront of her mind every day, and the failure to find them bugged her almost as much as it did Jill. However, the operative word was ‘almost’. Diana was now beyond worried about the impact the case was having on Jill. It was occupying her every waking moment and, judging by the way she talked in what little sleep she got, occupying her few sleeping moments as well. She had tried to get Jill to take a break, but without success. She’d tried to get her talking about the case, but with little more to show for it than a few words. And from what Jill had let slip, Diana was now concerned that she was starting to obsess about one specific possibility.

  ‘But I thought your boss, Greg, had said you didn’t have enough to get a search warrant,’ she said. ‘He’s very experienced, isn’t he? Do you genuinely think he’s wrong?’

  ‘No, I’m sure he’s right about that,’ Jill replied. ‘But don’t you see, that’s why I need to find the evidence that will justify a warrant. I’m certain that woman knows more than she’s saying.’

  ‘Might it not be possible…’ Diana was phrasing her question as carefully as she could. ‘… that the reason you haven’t found enough evidence is because it isn’t there to be found? That she’s just a recluse who is scared to death of Covid?’

  ‘You haven’t met her,’ said Jill. ‘I tell you, there’s something screwy about her. And Turbo found something round there too, don’t forget.’

  ‘The dog,’ said Diana sceptically. ‘And didn’t his handler say his signal was doubtful?’

  ‘Well I’m going to check it out some more, one way or another. See you later, but don’t wait up for me – it might be a long one.’ And Jill left for the office.

  She spent the morning trawling online databases. She knew she was good at that, better than most was not too much of a claim, and by lunchtime she’d amassed a pile of data on Joanne Hamilton. She knew where she had worked as a civil servant, when she’d started collecting her pension and what day of the month it was paid by bank transfer. The date she’d bought the bungalow in Ormesby was on record, as was her marriage, the later divorce and the birth of a daughter. She got excited about that for a moment, but swiftly realised the daughter would now be in her fifties and long since left home. Certainly none of the neighbours had mentioned seeing any family visiting Mrs Hamilton. Neither the divorced husband nor the daughter appeared in any census return she could find, nor in any other database that she’d been able to mine so far. Frustrated, she went looking for Ned.

  She found him on the phone, as usual, still chasing analytical chemistry.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to ask me for those DNA results,’ he said when he put the phone down. ‘I’m spending my life on this damn thing,’ – indicating the phone – ‘and all I’m doing is taking up the time of the few staff they do have in the lab. So I’m probably holding things up, not speeding them up.’ He sighed, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand over his shaved head. ‘What can I do for you, Jill?’ he asked. ‘Anything, provided it doesn’t involve the laboratory!’

  ‘Can I borrow someone to do some sampling for me?’ she asked, adding hurriedly, ‘not DNA! I want someone to check around for me, in Ormesby, for fingerprints. We already have the kids’ prints on record, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, from their home,’ said Ned. ‘Have you got a lead then?’

  ‘Something I’m working on,’ said Jill. ‘At the least, I want to exclude a possibility. So can I borrow someone to do some checking for me?’

  ‘I don’t have many people in,’ said Ned. ‘Most of my team are still working the arson case. They should be finished there this evening. Will tomorrow do?’

  ‘I was hoping for this afternoon,’ said Jill.

  ‘In that case, the only person I have available is one of the new recruits. He’s coming in at lunchtime. He should be OK for this job, but keep an eye on him for me, will you? Actually, he’ll benefit from the experience so it’s a win-win. His name’s Alan Thorpe. Goes by Al.’

  ‘Thanks, Ned. I owe you one.’

  It was late afternoon by the time Jill had all her ducks in a row, of which the most important was, of course, her new assistant. Al was young, dark and earnest. His slightly receding hair was cropped short, as were his beard and moustache. Lanky and leaning as though slightly embarrassed by his height, Jill concluded that he had been designed for the word gangling. He was also as enthusiastic as a cockapoo puppy and very keen for a new experience. He chatted non-stop from Wymondham to Ormesby until Jill had to plead for a few moments’ silence to give herself a break. By then she’d already been briefed on his family (eccentric), his training (fascinating) and his love life (non-existent).

  When they pulled up in the garage forecourt where the children had last been seen, she turned in her seat for his final briefing.

  ‘You know the background,’ she said. ‘The last confirmed sighting of the children was here and there are other, unconfirmed, sightings placing them in this area later that same day. We also know that the police search dog picked something up over there – by the bungalow with the boat in the drive.’ She pointed. ‘Now, there’s no reason to do any more work over here by the garage, that’s already been covered by your colleagues. What I want to do now is check out the area by that bungalow.’

  ‘We’re unlikely to get anything from surfaces out in the open,’ objected Al. ‘Too much elapsed time and too much weather.’

  ‘Yes, I realise that,’ said Jill with ostentatious patience. ‘What I’m interested in are the outbuildings and so on, in the immediate area round that bungalow.’

  ‘Not inside the bungalow?’ asked Ned.

  ‘No. The lady’s shielding,’ said Jill.

  ‘Don’t we need a warrant to go into her property?’

  ‘You can let me worry about that,’ said Jill. Then added, as Al was still looking worried, ‘Stuff like a boat or shed that’s open is OK. You have my authority for it.’ She hoped that Al couldn’t see her fingers crossed behind her back – metaphorically speaking.

  They started with the boat. Jill opened the canvas cover and gave Al a boost up into the cockpit. Unsurprisingly there were fingerprints aplenty on the edge of the gunwale. Al found a few more under the edge of the bench seat at the back and some good prints from the steering wheel.

  Outside the boat, Jill was becoming nervous about how long he was taking but strove hard to hide it. So far, there was no sign of movement in the house. When Al emerged at last, she led him round the corner of the house to the back garden and the small summerhouse. While he was working in there, she tried the back door of the garage. It was open.

  ‘Al,’ she said quietly, ‘last job is in here.’

  He nodded and replied, rather more loudly than she liked, ‘Sure thing. I’ve just finished here.’ He picked his equipment up and followed her into the garage. As he did, the overhead strip light suddenly came on and an old lady was visible in the side door that led to the bungalow. She was masked and holding something in her right hand.

  ‘I’ve rung for the police,’ she announced in a voice that was only slightly muffled by the mask.

  ‘We are the police,’ said Jill, stepping forward and holding out her warrant card. She stopped several metres from Mrs Hamilton. ‘We’ve spoken before Mrs Hamilton. I didn’t bother you because I know you are shielding. We’re just pursuing our enquiries about the two missing children, there’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Get out, right now,’ the woman shouted, making Al jump. ‘You have no right to be in my property without my permission. Get out. And I’ll be making an official complaint, you can be sure of that.’

  Shaken and, in Al’s case, chastened as well, the two of them left the garage and crossed the road to Jill’s car.

  ‘Are we in trouble?’ asked Al once they were on their way back to Wymondham.