Charlotte Miles’s property was exactly as Jack had imagined. The fence marking the perimeter was high and solid to protect the free-roaming sheep, ducks and chickens, but the inside fences were makeshift. The pigpen’s structure was a mix of recycled wooden and metal gates from other areas of the smallholding, strapped together with wire; this was home to three very large pigs. And the extensive veg and fruit fields were protected by chicken wire and plastic zip ties. In what must have once been the back garden, greenhouses were filled to bursting with plants that grew out of the tiny gaps between the glass and its frame, and beyond that there was a stunning orchard boasting lemon, apple and pear trees.

The exterior of the house was shabby and weather-worn, with windows so dirty they were impossible to see through. Oaks knocked on the equally dirty door.

A woman in her thirties opened it. She was slender and pretty with long, messy hair tied in a knot hanging between her shoulder blades. She wore a vest top and dungarees cut low at the side, so they revealed the top of her hips. On her feet, she wore thick green knitted socks, designed to fit snugly into the Hunter wellington boots behind the door.

‘Hi, Annie. This is Annie Summers,’ Oaks announced. ‘Annie, this is DS Jack Warr from the Met in London.’ As Annie smiled and stepped back to allow them in, Oaks added quietly, ‘Take your shoes off, sir.’ It was only now that Jack caught sight of his once-black brogues, thick with what he hoped was only mud. Oaks, on the other hand, was wearing brown boots with soles so thick that the leather uppers were hardly dirty at all.

Beyond the muddy porch, the outwardly mucky farmhouse was immaculate. Dark wooden ceiling beams split the large reception room into lounge, dining area and kitchen. The lounge was cosy, with plush cream carpets and modern furniture complete with numerous cats scattered about the place, while the dining area and kitchen were more like a typical farmhouse with an Aga, hanging pans and heavy terracotta floor tiles.

Oaks told Annie that they were here to see Charlotte; they did try to call ahead but received no reply.

‘Lotte’s useless with her mobile,’ said with a smile. ‘She’s with the horses, so it’ll be on top of a hay bale somewhere. She won’t even know it’s not in her pocket.’ As Annie spoke, she texted. This was quickly followed by an electronic whistle from somewhere near the kitchen windowsill. Annie headed for a flowerpot by the side of the sink, and there was Charlotte’s mobile. ‘See! Didn’t even make it out of the house. Do you want me to take you over, Will, or can you make your own way?’

Oaks assured Annie that he’d be able to escort Jack to the stables, no problem.