‘I’ll no doubt get it from Mother, but I have kept it secret for so long. And,’ she laughed softly, ‘I’ve never been able to wear the Cartier gold bangles I bought with the money.’

‘Do you recall the name of the film that you were due to see?’ Jane asked.

Annalise shrugged. ‘I think it was called The Slave Trader.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Jane couldn’t wait to get back to the station. She had just parked her Mini when Dabs drew up alongside her car. He got out, leaving his Mini station wagon double-parked and the engine ticking.

‘Listen, what time do you get off tonight, Jane? Elliott needs to have a session with you.’

Jane locked her car. ‘I’m off-duty at six thirty, unless something crops up. But I don’t have my tracksuit.’

Dabs waved a hand dismissively. ‘You won’t need it. Just get to the rifle club as soon as you get off-duty. He’ll explain everything.’

Before Jane could ask anything, Dabs had hurried back to his car and driven off. She headed into the incident room, not giving any more thought to the odd interaction she’d just had. Instead, she sat at her desk to begin checking the list of models who had been involved in Foxley’s promotional events. As she had diary notes going back for the past nine months, indicating when the girls were required, it would mean a lot of interviews to determine which girl had suffered the same abuse as Annalise. One of these girls, she thought, could have had a lover, a father or brother who could have been enraged enough to murder Charles Foxley.

Spencer was finishing his report on the meeting he had had with Michael Langton and was eager to pass on the information he had gained, particularly the fact that they now had a suspect for who had been dealing drugs to Charles Foxley. He went over to Jane’s desk and suggested they go have lunch in the canteen. Jane was equally keen to pass on her findings after interviewing Annalise. They both ordered a rather stewed shepherd’s pie and baked beans, and a cup of coffee.

‘OK, Spence, you go first.’

As he shoveled down his shepherd’s pie, smothered in HP sauce, he described how much he had admired Langton and how impressed he was with the care home. He went into a lengthy description of how Langton used a typewriter, how he painted using a brush held in his teeth and, for a man with his horrendous disabilities, how he somehow still projected a strong and confident demeanor. Spence had really liked him and understood the importance of his visits to Mandy Pilkington, which in his own words were often the only times he felt normal.

Spencer heaped sugar into his coffee, as Jane listened.

‘Go on . . . What did you get?’ she asked.