On the other hand, if you wanted to keep a woman prisoner undisturbed, it was a much better option than anywhere in the city. For Banham was only a fake village. It had none of the sense of community that knit together real villages. Here, nobody looked out for each other. Nobody knew each other’s business. Nobody knew when their neighbours went on holiday or where they were going. There was no epicentre – no pub to run quizzes, no village hall, no WI or Autumn Club or Brownie pack. The detached cottages and houses were separate and inviolate. It was the sort of place people lived when they wanted to impress. It was also the sort of place where nobody lived for more than a few years.

Driving into the village, Paula reckoned that once upon a time living somewhere so anonymous might have appealed to her. Nobody knowing she was a cop, nobody questioning the women who occasionally drove up to her house at weekends and stayed over. But that was when she allowed anxiety to circumscribe her life. She hadn’t felt like that for a very long time. And part of that was because of Carol Jordan and her MIT.

Taylor’s house wasn’t hard to spot. It was stone-built, like most of the houses in Banham. Even though it was probably only about thirty years old it was solid and well-proportioned. Unless he had another source of income, it must have stretched Gareth Taylor to afford it. The white CSI van sat in the driveway and a liveried BMW was parked on the roadway outside. A huddle of people in white Tyvek suits milled around in the drive, waiting for her as she’d instructed them to do. She wanted to be here every step of the way. All they had on Taylor so far was circumstantial. A car repeatedly showing up on the ANPR records was suggestive. But it wasn’t proof. Going armed with a taser and using it on Carol Jordan was suggestive but it wasn’t proof, particularly since, by her own admission, she’d been following him. Working in the same office as Marie Mather was suggestive but it wasn’t proof. Having a limp was suggestive but it wasn’t proof. If she was honest and impartial, there was still more solid evidence against Tony than there was against Taylor right now. If she was Fielding, she probably wouldn’t be releasing Tony just yet.

Paula suited up, put on shoe covers, then nodded to the officer carrying the door ram. In one smooth sweep, he delivered a massive blow to the heavy front door. The wood splintered and gave up its lock, which clattered down hard enough to leave a dent in the parquet. Softwood tarted up to look like hardwood, Paula thought. How very Banham.