‘I don’t understand. We closed them down.’

  ‘Ethan thinks the cult is still active. Remember that bust we carried out? He thinks it was just a front. The real meetings have gone underground. They knew we were onto them and they set us up to see if we’d bite.’

  ‘We closed them down,’ Jennifer repeated. The box she had firmly shut away in her mind had sprung open, its contents crawling like maggots on her skin. The Reborners were a terrible prospect for Haven; a cult which left a trail of dead bodies in its wake. But the ringleader had been taken out of the equation. It couldn’t be true.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, hun, but that’s the word on the street. I’m slowly building up some contacts in Haven, but it’s going to take time.’

  Jennifer nodded, her thoughts in the past. Zoe’s previous experience as an undercover officer would not go to waste in her new role. ‘You have my number. Call me if anything significant comes up.’

  ‘You owe me a drink first, remember?’ Zoe said, shaking her feet from her kitten heels and throwing them on the back seat. ‘Ohhh, that’s better.’

  Jennifer smirked. No matter how stressed she was, Zoe’s quirky ways always made her smile. ‘You’re not seriously gonna drive barefooted, are you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Zoe said, wriggling her purple painted toenails. ‘And don’t go changing the subject. Mine’s a vodka and coke.’

  Jennifer opened the car door and stepped out into the breeze. ‘Play your cards right and I’ll get you a kebab too,’ she said, laughing at her colleague’s disgusted reaction. ‘See you later. Be careful driving in your bare feet.’

  ‘Chill your beans, babe, I’m all good.’

  Zoe turned over the ignition of the unmarked Ford Focus, revving it into life. Jennifer watched as the car hared up the winding lane. This would be her first and last FLO job. She couldn’t stand to be away from the beating heart of the investigation any more. She was yet to admit it was because she also missed working with Will. She cared for him far more than she could afford. Life had changed beyond recognition in the last year, and it was time to put her foot on the brake. Her childhood had taught her some valuable lessons. It didn’t pay to invest too much in one person, and life had a way of letting you down.

  She stared into the distance, until the silver car was a dot on the landscape. It was typical that Radcliffe turned up to the house on the day he was to be arrested. She had been just about to speak to him when she received a call telling her to hang fire. But an arrest was good news, wasn’t it? Radcliffe fitted the profile as Abigail’s abductor. So why did she feel so uneasy? Unanswered questions niggled the back of her brain, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they had arrested the right man. There was one person she had yet to speak to – and her visit would not be welcomed.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The door opened only a fraction before Karen caught sight of her on the other side. Feeling like an unwelcome salesman, Jennifer flashed her warrant card as a reminder of the importance of her visit.

  ‘I’m DC Knight . . .’ she began, her voice low so as not to disturb the other residents.

  ‘I know who you are,’ Karen said, giving her a frosty glare. ‘You’d better come in.’

  Karen’s flat was small and cosy, and the welcome aroma of sandalwood incense lingered in the air. Jennifer cast her eyes over the sofa littered with mismatched sofa cushions, and the outdated television decorated with family photos and cat ornaments. A probationer’s wage did not stretch very far, and she guessed that Karen’s family had furnished the flat with their unwanted furniture and knick-knacks. A small black kitten mewed as it scurried towards her, and Karen scooped it up as if Jennifer was a Rottweiler that had prowled into the room.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Karen said, stroking the kitten protectively.

  ‘I’d like to ask you some questions. Nothing to worry about. I just thought we’d have more privacy if I came to you.’

  Karen frowned. ‘Why do we need privacy?’

  Jennifer shifted on her feet. She had hoped to be able to sit down with Karen and draw out whatever trouble Nick was in, to come to a resolution; but as Karen stood stiffly before her it soon became apparent no such invitation would be forthcoming. ‘I want to talk to you about your relationship with Nick . . . because I believe it may have a bearing on Abigail’s case,’ Jennifer added hastily, justifying her intrusion.

  Karen snorted. ‘So you’re saying my friendship with Nick has something to do with Abigail’s disappearance? It’s not just you being nosey now, is it, DC Knight?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Jennifer said, affronted. ‘We’re all professionals here. If Nick’s in trouble, I’d like to help. He’s not been forthcoming with the police, and when this comes out it might make him look bad.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me how the police work, I’ve spent the last couple of years having it drummed into me. In which case, I don’t see the relevance. It’s getting late. I’d like you to leave.’

  Oh sod it, Jennifer thought, taking a deep breath. ‘I heard you talking down by the playing fields. I know you’re having an affair.’

  Karen paled. The kitten mewed for her to resume stroking, as her hand froze mid-air. ‘You were spying on us.’

  ‘Never mind me, what about you? What secret is Olivia keeping for Nick? As you said, people have affairs all the time, but there’s something else, isn’t there? What’s he holding back?’

  ‘I . . .’ Karen’s lips tightened, as if to stifle the words. Her bravado fell away, and she visibly squirmed under Jennifer’s gaze.

  ‘I’m not here to get anyone into trouble. I’m trying to help.’

  ‘You’d better sit down,’ Karen said, gesturing to a beanbag in the corner.

  Jennifer raised her eyebrows at what resembled a giant marshmallow. ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking a seat next to Karen on the sofa instead.

  ‘We’re not having an affair. Nick’s been like a brother to me,’ Karen said, moving to the other end.

  ‘But you said –’

  ‘I’ve known him for ages. I had some problems with my ex-boyfriend and he sorted it out for me. Even helped me get an attachment on CID. I owe him a lot.’

  Jennifer frowned, unconvinced. ‘Then why did you tell him to leave his wife?’

  Karen rolled her eyes at the mention of Joanna’s name. ‘Because she makes his life hell. Call it mental abuse, but she’s not all sweetness and light like she comes across.’

  Sweetness and light was not how Jennifer would have described Joanna. Distant, troubled, even spaced out, but she was happy to let the description slide if it brought her nearer the truth.

  Karen kissed the kitten on the top of its head and gently placed it on the floor. It instantly jumped back on her lap. ‘Joanna’s very manipulative. Right from the beginning she wanted Nick all to herself. Why do you think she’s bought that farm in the middle of nowhere? And when people do visit, she sets herself up to look like the victim.’ Karen widened her eyes in an effort to convince her. ‘It’s just another form of control, turning his friends against him, so he’s more reliant on her.’

  ‘She didn’t seem to mind you,’ Jennifer said, recalling Karen’s presence at the table when she gave an update. Stroking his back, patting his hand, and then there were the phone calls. ‘Have you ever thought that Nick could be exaggerating the facts? I’ve bore the brunt of his temper. He’s very quick to react.’

  ‘Of course he’s upset, his daughter’s missing,’ she said, stating the obvious. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if Joanna was behind the whole thing.’

  Jennifer lowered her hand to stroke the kitten, now rubbing up against her tights. She shifted in her seat, hoping Karen would hurry up and get to the point. But Karen was fully engrossed in her tirade.

  ‘You don’t like her very much, do you?’ Jennifer said.

  Karen almost spat the words. ‘I can’t stand the bitch. She’s a leech. Don’t you see? It’s all about her, how much she can syphon from someone or something. She’s never cared about Nick or the kids. It’s the attention she craves. If you want to see who’s taken Abigail, start looking at her, because I can guarantee that’s one big publicity stunt too.’

  ‘Then why isn’t she acting the grieving mother and gaining public sympathy? She’s not done herself any favours in the press.’

  ‘Because she’s devoid of emotion. Why do you think she has a housekeeper raising her kids when she’s at home all day herself? If there’s a hate campaign against her, then it’s all she deserves. She’s hurt Abigail and she’ll hurt Nick too.’

  ‘For someone that’s not in a relationship, you seem very passionate about it all.’

  ‘As I said, Nick’s my friend.’

  ‘But I heard you say he’s having an affair.’

  Karen’s glance flickered across the room and back to Jennifer. ‘If you want to know any more, you’ll have to ask Nick. I suppose you’ll put that in your little report and get him into more trouble,’ Karen said, petulantly.

  Jennifer brushed off her trouser legs before rising to leave. She was tired, feeling like a dog chasing his tail and getting nowhere. ‘No. I don’t think I will. But if you know anything about Abigail’s disappearance, you have to tell me. Even if she’s dead, we’ve got to bring home her body. She won’t be at rest until we do.’

  ‘I would never withhold information, especially not involving the disappearance of a child. I can see what it’s doing to Nick. The only good thing that’s come out of this is that now he can see what his wife is really like, and leave her.’

  Jennifer cast her eyes over the photos on the mantelpiece as she slid her card from her jacket pocket. She rested her card on a coffee table.

  ‘Here’s my mobile. Call me if you hear anything.’

  ‘I won’t need to,’ Karen said.

  ‘Oh, and Karen – I recommend you stay off Twitter for a while.’

  Karen opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. Her cheeks flushed as she showed Jennifer to the door. ‘I never really liked Twitter anyway,’ she mumbled.

  * * *

  Jennifer sat in her car, trying to piece together the puzzle. So many different pieces, she thought, working with the analytical side of her brain. If Nick wasn’t having an affair with Karen, then who was he with? The two places Nick spent his time were at home, and at work. Home . . . she thought of Fiona, their shared glances, hushed whispers as she entered the room. It wasn’t the first time the thought had entered her mind. Was Fiona a cuckoo trying to shove Joanna out of the nest? But there was no spark between them, nothing to suggest feelings of a romantic nature. Karen’s words replayed in her mind. She had let down her guard as she spoke of Nick. The only good thing that’s come out of this is that now he can see what his wife is really like, and leave her. She could imagine her on the phone now, ringing Nick to warn him. Why did she have such an interest in his marriage if she wasn’t dating him? And what about Abigail? Could Karen be capable of snatching her in an attempt to expose Nick’s wife as the heartless woman she believed her to be? She wished she had taken notes of their conversation in the park. But the rain had blotted her notebook the second she had flipped back the cover, sending ink trails running down the page. They had said something about a secret, she was sure of it. But Karen was a young woman with a career ahead of her. Surely she couldn’t orchestrate something so heartless. Jennifer groaned in exasperation. Too many what ifs and not enough evidence. But she was not ready to lay this at Radcliffe’s door.

  * * *

  She rolled it all around in her head as she drove back to the farm. She could have reported Karen for her part in the online hate campaign against Joanna, but what good would that do? The young woman had her career ahead of her, even if she was blinded by loyalty to Nick. Loyalty. Karen said Nick had been like a brother to her, not a lover. She recalled Karen’s reaction as she had challenged her for the second time about the affair. Her gaze had flitted away, over the mantelpiece and . . . Jennifer recalled the ornaments and the framed photo where Karen’s attention lay. The photo . . . surely not? She drew an involuntary gasp as another piece of the puzzle slotted into place.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Diary Entry

  So an arrest has been made. Radcliffe, of all people. Hopefully he won’t bore them to death with his talks on climate change and the future of the economy. If there was ever a more unlikely handyman, I’ve yet to meet their acquaintance. And yet it got me thinking, because Radcliffe tends to more than the farm. Plans continue to hatch in my brain. The voice of reason has been pleading for mercy, telling me that once Abigail dies, there’s no coming back. But, you see, there is. And I know just the person to take the blame for her demise.

  The more time I spend watching her in captivity, the more I remember myself at her age, gripped by anguish, all wide-eyed and suspicious.

  The photos became a routine, and I learned to retract from my surroundings as the flash bulbs lit in quick succession. Off came my clothes, all of them now, and if I didn’t beg or plead I could cut down my time in the studio to fifteen minutes flat. My silence seemed to worry him more than my tears, and sometimes I could hear him, mumbling to himself as he justified his actions. He was a photographer, that was all. I was his model, just like the models you see on the catwalks and on TV. Except that I was nine years old. White-hot anger built up inside me as I ran the gamut of emotions. I had gone from tears, to trying to reason, to complete numbness, before I fell into the realms of bitterness and hate. Although he never touched me, the weekly humiliation made my life a living hell. I began to fantasise about hurting him. About putting an end to him for good. He saw it in my eyes because he began to act shifty, and come up with even more excuses, even managing to turn it around. He was acting as my guardian, he said. His clients were keen for more, and wanted to meet me in private. What if they knew where I lived, where I went to school? He was my protector, keeping the information from them. Really, he was doing me a favour, because the pictures were the only way of keeping them satisfied. If he didn’t continue . . . who knows what would happen? He was bigger and stronger than me, and had me cornered. There was nothing I could do. So I became reacquainted with my old friend the razor. My compulsion to self-harm had lain dormant in the days when my ‘father’ had pretended to be my friend. But now it emerged with new relish, and this time, the relief was immeasurable.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The thought of getting involved in a colleague’s love life made Jennifer uneasy in her skin. She reasoned that it was only relevant to the investigation because Nick had made it that way. If he had told the truth from the beginning, then she would not have had any reason to suspect him in the first place. Secrets were damaging, particularly if the person keeping them was a serving police officer. Jennifer wrung her hands as she prepared to confront him. Stress had been the root of his chronic insomnia. His nocturnal outings produced nothing of interest apart from him pottering around the farm, unmasking the emotions he denied an audience during the day. She guessed that night was when the tears came, and she could not help but feel sympathy for the man whose life was falling apart. She hoped that by getting his secret out in the open things could move forward.

  * * *

  She wasn’t thrilled about luring him away with the promise of an update, but it was the only way of getting him alone. Meeting at the police station was a bad idea. Instead, she chose her favourite coffee shop, where the atmosphere was warm and homely. Nick entered, showered and wearing a change of clothes. The dark rings under his eyes had aged him, and he looked gaunt and withered as his weight slipped away.

  ‘You said you had news?’ he said, taking a seat across from her.

  Jennifer pushed a cappuccino across to him. ‘Here. You look like you could do with it.’ Nervousness bubbled up inside her, taking her by surprise. She was never shy when it came to dealing with victims of crime, but Nick was different. He was a superior officer, and the last thing she wanted was to offend him. ‘I know about your affair,’ she blurted, wondering what had happened to taking things slowly.

  Nick spluttered, almost spitting out his coffee. ‘There’s nothing going on between me and Karen, she’s already told you that.’

  ‘I agree. But I’m not talking about Karen, am I, Nick?’

  Nick dropped his gaze to his coffee, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘It was something that Karen said, about you being like a brother to her, someone she’d known for years. It was only when I saw the photos of you with Matt that I realised she meant brother-in-law. How long have you been seeing each other?’

  Jennifer took no pleasure from the revelation. She had seen evidence of of Nick’s strict religious upbringing, and his parents’ disapproval of anything that deviated from the norm. His mother’s comments about her son’s wicked mistakes, and her adoration of the less than perfect daughter-in-law Joanna all made sense now. Only now, with the benefit of hindsight, did Jennifer recall Matt and Nick’s secret glances across the room.

  ‘Nick,’ Jennifer said, resting her hand on his wrist. ‘It makes no difference to me. But it’s relevant to the case when you’re asking your daughter to keep secrets. Just let it go. The worst has already happened.’

  Nick’s calloused finger toyed with the wedding ring on his left hand. It was white gold. A sign of their commitment. A deep sigh passed his lips, carrying all the pain and hurt of the last few days.

  ‘I’m not . . .’ He leaned forward to whisper the tainted word ‘. . . gay. I’m a married man. I’ve got children, for God’s sake.’

  Jennifer stirred her coffee, watching the frothy swirls absorb the sugar she had deposited on top. ‘Nick, it might be a big deal to your mum, but it’s not to me . . . I wouldn’t even be asking you if it wasn’t for the investigation.’