Radiology was towards the bottom of the last pile. Beneath several pages of anatomical diagrams was a cream envelope, greeting-card sized and made of thick, expensive stationery. The sender was a country hotel in County Cork, whose details were printed in the upper left corner in ornate script. It was addressed to Dr and Mrs Zachary Hunter, and was posted to Thorpe Hall in Yorkshire. Finally, I knew where the Yorkshire house was. I wouldn’t forget the address.

The glue on the flap had dried out. Inside was a receipt for a three-night stay from 5–8 April, including a room service dinner with a bottle of champagne. The receipt was dated 10 April 2013, which was shortly before Jane vanished. There was a cover letter, also dated 10 April, on cream stationery that matched the envelope.

Dear Dr and Mrs Hunter,

Thank you for contacting me by telephone to make payment by credit card. Please find enclosed your receipt for €1982.45. We regret the unfortunate circumstances that necessitated your early departure. We are grateful to you for paying in full, and for your understanding of our policy, requiring forty-eight hours’ notice of cancellation.

Kind regards,

Mr Patrick Murphy, Manager

I snapped a photo of the letter. What could the ‘unfortunate circumstances’ have been? A range of possibilities crowded in. Illness? A medical emergency for Zac? It couldn’t have been a work crisis for Jane, because Maxine had said that Jane quit her job a couple of years before she disappeared.

Why did Zac leave this there? Did he forget it existed? Doubtful, given that he wasn’t a man who forgot much. Maybe he didn’t know the letter was in the trunk, and unwittingly brought it along as a stowaway, like he did Jane’s beautiful suitcase? Jane herself could have slipped the letter into his medical school notes before she ran away. Then again, why did he keep the trunk locked? I recalled his assertion that the key was lost. Maybe he was telling the truth. Not everything he said could be a lie.

I was so immersed in thinking about this visit to Ireland that I didn’t notice the extra light bathing the curtains, or the sound of the car engine, which was barely audible on the other side of the triple-glazed windows. Then I heard the car door close.

‘What the fuck?’ I said aloud.

I saw him at work. I knew with absolute certainty he was on nights tonight. So how could he be home before his shift finished?