Sarah picks it up by the fob, turns it over in her hand.

‘I’ve never seen it before,’ Maddy says.

‘It’ll be from one of the new houses he’s been doing up, won’t it?’ Sarah says.

‘I thought that too. I’ve seen him with a ring full of keys before, but never one on its own.’

Sarah rubs her finger over the number on the fob. ‘Plot 146.’

‘What could be so special about this one?’ Maddy takes it from her.

‘Could it be for the house he was working on yesterday?’

‘But wouldn’t he keep it in the front of his rucksack with all his other stuff?’

‘Isn’t that where it was?’

‘No, it was hidden away in the lining.’

‘I wonder why.’ Sarah collects up their mugs.

‘I don’t know, but I need to find out. It might explain why he was on that bridge.’

Chapter Three

Max: March 2011

Max grabbed a copy of The Star and sat at his usual table after a nod from the dark-haired waitress. She was attractive when she bothered to smile. He scratched his spiky chin and rubbed across it with the back of his hand. His armpits stank; time he had a proper shower. But he didn’t even own a bar of soap, let alone a razor. He’d been lucky to scrape a few bits together at all: overalls, work boots and a few coins from under the bed. This was his only proper meal of the day.

The waitress came over, her flat shoes peeling off the floor with each step. He preferred heels, didn’t all men? An image of red stilettos and the sexy swagger of hips flashed in his mind.

‘Back again?’ The waitress smiled.

‘Can’t keep away.’ He winked. Fourth time this week. Under the table, he nudged his suitcase as if it were a snoozing dog.

‘Is it your usual?’ She held a little notepad in the palm of her hand, ready to take down his order.

Today she wore a tight red jumper which showed off her shape to perfection. Her nametag pinned to the left read, ‘Madeleine Dunn, Manageress’. The hem of her skirt skimmed the top of her knees showing off her tidy pins. With the right pair of heels, he reckoned she’d look the business. This was a first. He never went for dark and curvy as a rule, but this woman was quite some exception.

‘Yep, you got it.’ He winked. ‘Pot of strong tea, full English, no tomatoes, white toast.’

She scribbled it down. Her nails were chewed with a tiny blob of red in the centre of each. Back behind the counter, she chatted to a skinny blonde who looked over at him and giggled. She was more his usual type, but next to Madeleine she was ordinary and shapeless with a laugh like a blocked drain.