Jack leant against the passenger door of the car and looked out over the endless chequerboard of fields. Oaks, oblivious, got into the car and started the engine. Then he stopped the engine and got out again, unsure as to why Jack had paused. ‘Never stop looking at this,’ Jack said, looking towards the horizon. ‘I was brought up somewhere similar to this, but my daughter will grow up in London. It’s an amazing city, but, shit . . .’ He spread his arms. ‘Look at this.’ Oaks’s brow furrowed as he desperately tried to see what Jack was seeing. ‘You have to understand what Mrs Fullworth values, in order to get her to do what you want.’

‘So, we’re manipulating her?’

‘Of course. As long it’s for the right motive, it’s fine. This . . .’ Jack looked to the horizon again. ‘This is where Elli’s anger and fear comes from; from losing this. Losing it to scum. This countryside is Maisie’s. How dare anyone take it from her? Maisie’s in fucking Swindon. Have you ever been to Swindon?’

The furrow on Oaks’s brow disappeared and his eyes opened wide. He got it. Then Oaks’s mobile rang and he stepped away to answer it.

Jack took this moment to take a snap of the view and text it to Maggie. She immediately texted back.

Wish we were with you xxx.

‘Sir,’ Oaks cut in. ‘Charlotte Miles owns a plant nursery and gardening business just outside Churchill. It’s in the grounds of a smallholding – pigs, chickens, ducks, goats, that sort of thing. She has two vehicles: a van for delivering veg and plants, and an old pickup for the garden maintenance side of things. Between those two jobs, she works for most people round here. Either her van or her pickup was at each of the properties, a couple of nights before it was burgled.’

Although Oaks was telling Jack that they’d found a common denominator, he wasn’t confident that Charlotte was the common denominator. Oaks explained how she had already been interviewed and eliminated as she had a solid alibi for each burglary. ‘And besides, sir, Charlotte definitely isn’t a six-foot-plus bloke,’ Oaks added.

Jack pointed out that, although he agreed Charlotte could not be involved in the burglaries themselves, she could still be a scout of some kind, potentially recce’ing properties before they were hit. Oaks was doubtful. ‘Well, yeah, she could. But then, so could John – he’s our postman. And so could June – she’s our 50-odd-year-old paper girl. And so could . . .’ Jack walked away. He didn’t want to listen to Oaks listing everyone who visited houses on a weekly, if not daily basis.

*