A flicker of hope crossed her face, then it was gone. It was heartbreaking to watch.

‘What if he doesn’t want to come back?’

‘What he wants or doesn’t want is irrelevant now. He’s not going to have a choice.’

As she showed me out, I remembered why the mention of Alex Kolnik’s visit to her house had fired a connection in my brain. The car park of the Premier Inn, Thursday night. A black Range Rover came down the ramp just as I was leaving.

‘One other thing, Beth. The Range Rover that Kolnik came to your house in. What colour was it?’

She thought for a moment.

‘Black. Jet black.’

Chapter 43

43

As soon as I stepped through the front door of my house, something felt wrong. At first I thought it was just because it was weird to be coming home at 2 p.m.: last period on a Tuesday was 8C, currently reading The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. I liked 8C, they were a good bunch.

But then my skin registered a breeze coming through the house from the kitchen. I stopped, listened, and eased the front door shut very, very slowly. Taking care not to let the lock click into place.

Someone had been here. Maybe they were still here.

And then only one thought. Only one possible culprit.

Ben.

I stood still again, listening for any sound. The house was quiet. Weapon? There were a couple of umbrellas in a stand by the front door, a paperweight on the dresser, a vase on the windowsill. None of them great, especially if he was armed with a shotgun. I grabbed the paperweight, a snow globe of New York City, and crept through into the kitchen. Stopped again by the sink, listened, heard nothing. An artery in my neck pulsed hard and I swallowed against the sensation, picking up the rolling pin from the drying rack. The smooth wood had a decent heft to it. I moved through into the conservatory.

The back door stood slightly ajar. Its top half had nine square glass panels – the one nearest the handle was smashed. Jagged pieces of glass were scattered on the floor, the key nowhere to be seen.

I looked around trying to see what had been stolen.

A pair of speakers were still on the end table, a pot half full of coins on the windowsill. Nothing seemed to be out of place in the kitchen either. The family iPad was still there. Then the lounge, where the TV and DVD player were still in their proper places. I went upstairs. Mel’s PC was in the study, untouched, and nothing else looked like it had been disturbed. In the bedroom drawers, and Mel’s jewellery box, everything seemed to be in its proper place. There was no mess anywhere.