“You haven’t got a case!” Maggie flicked her hands dismissively toward his evidence wall. “This . . . This is not a police investigation. This is a personal . . . God knows what!” She turned in Jack’s arms to face him. “You’re not supposed to be doing this and, more to the point, you don’t need to be doing it. You have a dad. Why do you need another one? Especially this one, Jack—he sounds awful.”

As Maggie talked, Jack looked deep into her eyes. His eyebrows were up, his eyes were wide and inviting and she could see that this was the version of her partner she’d been waiting for. He was excited. Animated. Happy. Jack was alive again.

“I’m not trying to replace anything I have now, but my past, Mags, has holes in it that you could drive a bus through. There are missing pieces and I need to find them. Jimmy’s not an appealing man, you’re right, but my God, he lived. I just want to meet him. I need to know where this restlessness comes from. I can’t focus on ‘now’ until I do.”

Maggie realized that she had to support Jack through this—whatever this was—and she hated that thought. But, as she smiled back at him, she also realized that this was how she’d get her husband back. The man she looked at now was the strong, driven man she’d fallen in love with back in Totnes. Their passions rose and, before she knew it, Jack was kissing her, perching her on the edge of the spare bed and pulling down her silk pajama shorts. As she unbuckled his trousers, he kissed her neck until she tightened her legs round his waist to bring him to her. She felt now as she had felt the first time they made love; she had been desperate to experience the new man in her life and, as such, it was over in minutes, but what an explosive few minutes they were. She had that same frantic feeling now. Maggie once again felt desperate to experience this “new man” in her life, but this time was better, because this time was also filled with love. Jack knew her, knew how to touch her, knew how to move her. Maggie arched her back, allowing Jack to be however he wanted to be. She loved him, she trusted him, and she wanted him.

Audrey Withey was one of those people who’d always lived life just the wrong side of the law, but never really saw it like that. She’d never declared an income, she’d not think twice about buying smuggled European fags and anything off the back of a truck was fair game. Her home was nice enough for a three-bedroomed flat, but nothing matched—clearly Audrey scooped up anything that was getting chucked out by anyone else. One man’s trash . . .

Audrey was an almost skeletal 76-year-old woman who looked like she’d be blown over in a strong wind. When she took a drag on her cigarette, her face almost turned inside out and it was blatantly obvious from the smell that there was a large brandy in her coffee. As she walked Ridley and Jack into her lounge, she didn’t offer them any refreshments or, indeed, a seat. So, they both remained standing.