‘Yeah, well, lucky you. The rest of us have to live in the real world. So who gets the kid? With the dad in Afghanistan and mum dead? Where is he now? With relatives? Or social services. You sorted that out, right?’

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Truth or lies? ‘He’s with friends,’ Paula said, setting for the half-truth and moving swiftly on. ‘He’s got a maternal grandmother and an aunt in Bristol. I believe the aunt is coming up to Bradfield today.’

‘Good timing. We need to go through Nadia Wilkowa’s life again, see if there are any intersects with Bev McAndrew. That might bring us closer to finding how he acquired her. Pharmaceutical rep, pharmacist – not such an outrageous thought.’ Fielding turned away and stared out at the moorland landscape. ‘Christ, it’s bloody bleak. Why the hell would you want to live out here at the arse end of nowhere? What do people do all day? There’s nothing as far as the eye can see. Even the bloody sheep have given up.’

Paula had never had much faith in her sense of direction, but she was beginning to wonder about where they were heading. She took out her phone and opened the map app. A flashing icon marked their movement along the road. In the ‘search’ box, she typed in an address she recalled from the Jacko Vance investigation. The app took a moment to load, then it informed her that the barn where Vance had killed Michael Jordan was a mere seven miles away by road. Looking at the map, it was a lot less than that as the crow might fly if it had any interest in making the trip.

She had no idea whether Carol Jordan had visited her late brother’s home since his death, but if she was going to be out this way again, it might be worth taking a swing by to see if there were any locals who could help to pinpoint Carol’s location. Because she really didn’t want to lose contact with the boss she had come to count as a friend.

Moments later, they were slowing down, driving alongside other parked police vehicles. They emerged into the bright morning, eyes narrowing against the sunlight, and identified themselves to the PC who was controlling and noting access to the crime scene. ‘Where’s the SIO?’ Fielding asked.

The PC pointed. ‘DCI Franklin’s over by the body.’

‘Which one is he?’

Paula’s heart sank as she followed the PC’s finger. ‘The tall one who looks like a Neanderthal undertaker,’ she said under her breath, barely loud enough for Fielding to hear. Her boss gave her a quick, raised-eyebrow look. ‘I know DCI Franklin,’ she said more loudly for the PC’s benefit.