‘I’ll make sure of it, Chris,’ Exton replied.

As he was led away, up the pavement, hoping to hell none of their neighbours was watching, Niall Paternoster noticed the two officers who had come to his house that morning. He shouted out at them. ‘Hey, Detective Superintendent, can you tell me what’s going on? You’ve got no right to do this to me. I know my rights.’

A moment later, a firm hand pushed his head down, propelling him into the rear of a small Ford, behind the front passenger seat.

‘You’ve got this all wrong!’ Paternoster said as the door closed on him and one of the arresting officers climbed in beside him in the rear. ‘Can’t you people get anything right? You’re meant to be trying to find my wife! What the hell is all this about?’

Jon Exton turned to face him. ‘Perhaps it’s because we don’t believe you, Mr Paternoster.’

‘Don’t believe me? What do you mean? Don’t believe what? My wife has vanished and I’m going out of my mind with worry. What the hell don’t you believe? Haven’t you checked out the CCTV footage at Tesco Holmbush?’

Exton continued staring at him. ‘That has been done. The footage has been studied. Outside and inside the store. You were there, but your wife wasn’t.’

28

Monday 2 September

After Potting and Exton had driven off with their prisoner, Roy Grace didn’t strictly have a further role to play tonight, other than as the SIO to make his own initial assessment of the crime scene. The fewer people who entered a potential crime scene the better, to limit contamination. He watched Gee sign the scene guard log and go into the house, and Barbara Onoufriou and four Search Team officers walk round to the rear garden. But he was too curious to leave. All his instincts were telling him something was very definitely wrong here.

Turning to Branson, he said, ‘You can go home, mate, I want to hang around a bit.’

‘I’ll stay with you, boss.’

‘Honestly, you don’t have to. Go and cherish your family.’

The DI shook his head. ‘The kids are at their grandparents and Siobhan’s taken a day off – she’s been out with her sister at the final wedding dress fitting. She said they were going to dinner together – which is shorthand for getting trolleyed.’

Grace grinned. ‘Think I would too – at the thought of getting married to you!’

‘Your humour doesn’t improve with age.’

‘Nah, just my wisdom.’

After worming into fresh forensic suits, overshoes and gloves, and pulling on masks, they approached the Paternosters’ house. The young, uniformed PC scene guard standing behind the tape was in for a long night, until the poor sod was relieved around 6 or 7 a.m. tomorrow, depending on how they worked their shifts these days, Grace thought. Both of them signed his log and ducked under the cordon.

The guard contacted the Crime Scene Manager, who came out into the tiny front garden to join them.