Jack stood up abruptly from the table, closed Hannah’s laptop and stuck it under his arm. ‘And how long is that going to take? Come on, Nathan. We don’t need the Greater Manchester Police to do this for us. We can just knock on the door and say that Hannah mentioned this Dorothea woman in a letter to her brother.’

‘Jack, you don’t even know where she lives,’ Tom said, earning himself a derisory look as Jack held up his mobile, which was showing a map that no doubt featured the precise location of Dorothea Atwell’s home.

‘Come on,’ Jack said again. ‘Let’s go and have a chat with this lady. You drive, Nathan, and I’ll continue to search Hannah’s computer for information.’

‘Hang on, the pair of you,’ Tom said, feeling as if he was talking to a couple of teenage boys off on some escapade. ‘First of all, she’s met you before, Nathan. If she knows anything about Hannah, she’s going to find it very odd you turning up on her doorstep if you never mentioned your sister when you met on the boat.’

Nathan looked at Jack and raised his eyebrows. ‘He has a point.’

‘Okay. I’ll ask the questions. You can wait in the car,’ Jack said, already walking towards the hall.

Tom threw his papers down on the worktop. ‘Listen, you can’t go charging in there like Batman and bloody Robin,’ he said, the exasperation clear in his voice. ‘This is an elderly couple, one of whom very probably met Hannah on the retreat. And if this lady does know anything at all about where she might have gone, you’re just going to scare her if you don’t ask the right questions. And as for you, Jack, you shouldn’t be showing your face anywhere. What happens if they complain about you and there’s an investigation? I know you’re sick of being dead, but don’t blow it now in a burst of ill-conceived enthusiasm.’

Jack looked at Tom for about ten seconds. ‘Point taken, little brother. We’ll just go and check the place out, shall we, Nathan? And perhaps on the way we can think up a story to get you through the front door. I’ll keep to the bushes.’ He smiled at Tom, whose heart sank.

He had a feeling this was all going to go horribly wrong.

CHAPTER 57

57

I’ve spent most of the day in the car park of a cemetery. It seemed appropriate somehow. The day has never grown fully light. Thick dark clouds have been scudding across the sky, the wind scattering dead leaves that scratch against my windscreen. I huddle down in my coat, not wanting to use up all my fuel but for some reason unwilling to drive as far away from Manchester as possible.