‘We’ve been through every stitch of Edgar McKee’s clothing. We’ve been through the drum of his washing machine and the dust filter from his tumble drier and there’s isn’t a single stray blonde hair that could match Annie Boyd. There’s nothing for us to test.’

‘What about the U-bend from his sink and the out pipe from his washing machine?’

‘We’ve been through everything. His armchair, his furniture, his bed, his bedding, his carpets, his laminate flooring. I’m sorry. There’s nothing doing. We just didn’t find anything.’

‘Anything from the garage on Francesca Christie’s car?’

‘Nothing yet. Sorry.’

Clay’s mind went into top gear as the bad news had the reverse effect of what it should have done: it galvanised her.

‘Have you been to the abattoir where he works, Terry?’

‘No.’

‘Leave it with me. When I’ve alerted the abattoir’s twenty-four-seven security team that they’re going to have to open up, that’s going to be your next port of call. Given the nature of the work he does, there’s going to have to be some changing facility. He’s probably got an individual locker with his personal belongings and spare clothes. I’ll ring you when I’ve sorted it out. Stay on stand-by and thank you for trying so hard. If anyone’s going to find the forensic evidence that’s going to nail the bastard, it’s you and Pricey.’

As soon as she put the receiver down, her phone rang out again and, within half a second, she raised it to her ear.

‘Eve?’

‘Sergeant Harris? What’s up?’ She dismissed the pale hope of a turnaround confession from the holding cells.

‘I’ve got two women in reception. They’re demanding to see you immediately.’

‘About?’

‘They wouldn’t say. But they’re insistent on speaking to you personally. It’s a matter of life and death. Neither of them are pissed or high. My gut believes them.’

‘Did they give you their names?’

‘Lydia Ball and Janine Ball.’

Ball? thought Clay, processing dozens of names that had cropped up in the space of the past three days.

‘I’ll come down straight away. Ask one of them what her husband’s name is?’

Harris asked the question and a fractured voice came through the receiver.

‘Daniel Ball.’

‘I got that, Sarge,’ said Clay, seeing a speck of light on the dark horizon.

As she headed for the door, Winters asked, ‘Want me to square things with the abattoir people for Mason and Pricey?’

‘You’re a star, Clive. ASAP please.’

102

1.21 am

‘Are you OK if I record our conversation?’ asked Clay.

‘I have no problem with that, DCI Clay,’ replied Lydia Ball.

Lydia looked at Janine who said, ‘That’s fine.’

Clay pressed record.

‘So, Lydia, Daniel Ball is your husband and, Janine, you’re his sister.’

The women nodded.