“So, who’s the mastermind now?”

“Not Ester. They don’t like her, don’t trust her and, anyway, she was out of the loop for too long. Not Connie—she’s not capable. Julia or Angela. They’re both smart and organized enough to juggle families and jobs. Angela’s my guess—she was Dolly’s protégée and she still puts flowers on Dolly’s grave.”

Ridley stood, arms folded, legs apart, temples pulsing as the tension flickered through his facial muscles. He nodded.

“Let’s bring her in.”

The drive to Angela’s flat in West London was short and silent. Ridley was driving faster than normal, which was an indication of how annoyed he was. From the car park beneath Angela’s third floor window, they looked up to see the flat in darkness. It seemed that Angela, Rob and the kids had gone. Within minutes, Ridley was requesting search warrants and coordinating simultaneous entries into Ester’s home on the Isle of Wight, Julia’s care home in Chester and Connie’s B&B in Taunton. Ridley wanted to be the one to search Angela’s flat; if she was the ringleader, as Jack suspected, then she’d be the one with all the answers.

The Chester police arrived in force, expecting to have to herd unwanted children into the back of a police van just to stop them from scattering like rats, but what they actually found was an English lesson in mid-flow. Julia’s two helpers, who she “trusted with her life,” kept the children entertained while the police searched the three adjoining houses. The female helper escorted the police while the male helper, Daniel, continued the class as though nothing untoward was happening at all.

Daniel spoke as if he was reading a quote from a textbook.

“The police burst in through the door, all red-faced and sweaty. Burst.”

A sea of tiny hands shot into the air and Daniel pointed to a young Asian lad, who was dressed in clothes at least three sizes too big for him.

“Verb!” the boy shouted with pride.

“Brilliant!”

Daniel caught a glimpse of the overweight PC in the corner of the room scowling at the children, as though they were not worth the effort Daniel was putting in.

“Sweaty,” Daniel continued.

Again, tiny hands reached for the ceiling. Daniel nodded his head toward the PC and asked if he knew what sort of word “sweaty” was. All the while, the children’s hands strained into the air, begging to be chosen. The PC flushed with embarrassment as a girl, no more than 6 years old, explained to him what an adjective was.

There was nothing suspicious at Julia’s. Her paperwork was meticulous, there were no drugs or alcohol on the premises and the kids were well looked after. The sergeant questioned everyone to try and ascertain where Julia was, but no one knew a thing.

The bleached blonde at The Grange B&B in Taunton told the local police that Connie had probably “nipped to the shops.”

“Well, I dunno, do I? I’m up at five to do the breakfasts, then it’s the bedrooms, then packed lunches for the walkers, then general stuff, then the dinner prep! I’m sure I saw Connie yesterday on the third floor. Maybe I didn’t. We sometimes don’t see each other for days and we’re in the same building! She’s gone then, has she? Where to?”