She climbed from the car. At five foot, and tiny-framed, she’d often been told she looked younger than her forty-eight years. But she was strong. With cropped black hair, Doc Martens, and a fierce Glaswegian accent, she knew she could take on anyone.

They crossed the car park, cobbles crunching under their feet, and onto the grass.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Kate Beynon,’ she said on reaching the gathered group, brandishing her badge, before shoving it back into her jacket pocket. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Gavin McKay.’

Gavin’s silver-threaded ponytail and bushy grey beard gave him an ageing rock-star look. He was older than Kate – late fifties – and her opposite in many ways, with his gentle persona and kindly face.

‘Which of you is Robert Taylor?’ Kate said, scanning their bewildered faces.

‘Me.’ A tall man in a long black coat raised his hand.

‘You called in?’

He nodded. ‘Lark, my daughter – she’s missing.’ He blinked. Anxious? ‘Jackson took her.’

‘We don’t know that, Robert.’ A woman with a pale-blue scarf around her head and wearing a parka, despite the warm day, met Kate’s eye. ‘I’m Lark’s mother. Caroline Taylor.’ Her voice cracked. ‘My partner, Jackson Cromwell, is missing too, but I’m not convinced it’s connected.’

‘OK,’ Kate said. ‘So, I understand from your call that Jackson’s car was driven away in the middle of the night. Is it possible they would they have gone away together?’ She had to ask the question.

‘Never,’ Caroline said without hesitation. ‘I just said, it’s not connected.’

‘And one of you heard a scream?’ Kate’s eyes cruised the worried faces.

‘Me.’ A pretty redhead, who looked as though she hadn’t slept in a month, raised her hand. ‘Though I can’t be sure. It could have been an animal … I don’t know … but with her disappearance I assume it was …’

Kate narrowed her eyes. ‘We can’t assume anything … and you are?’

‘Amelia Taylor. Lark’s sister.’

‘Well, if one of you could give DS McKay here the registration number and make of Jackson’s car, we can then check CCTV and get the number plate out to traffic police.’

A car drove onto the cobbles, and came to a stop. Kate turned to see a young woman climb from the driver’s side of a yellow sports car.

‘Who’s that?’ Kate asked.

‘Julia Collis,’ a scruffy young man with an attractive face said, rising from where he’d been sitting on the grass fiddling with a blade of grass. ‘Julia!’ he called to her, raising his hand. ‘She’s Michael Collis’s daughter. He owns Drummondale estate.’

‘We’ll need to speak to them both.’

‘Michael’s abroad at the moment; Julia stays at the farmhouse while he’s away.’