Last time Seraphine had led them both into danger, Bloom had a team of police officers behind her, listening and ready to ensure their safety. But there was no insurance now and they had no idea what kind of people they were up against. She found Detective Superintendent Drummond’s number on her phone and held her finger above the call button. But she couldn’t do it. She put her phone in her pocket. Seraphine might be a law unto herself, but Bloom knew she was obsessed with Jameson. She wouldn’t let anyone harm him.

The leafy, residential road was lined with large detached properties and clusters of smaller low-level dwellings. Bloom passed the deserted school and continued onwards, checking the location on the map on her phone. The entrance to Coldeast Mansion was framed by stone pillars and the building itself sat at the end of a path in a patch of tired lawn. It had probably been an impressive building in its day, but as Bloom approached she could see that it had been neglected in recent years. A few cars were parked out front, and on either side of the large stone porch stood a tree with foliage shaped into a ball and a ribbon-wrapped trunk. She had a look on Google: apparently it was a combination of rentable flats and rooms to hire for parties and weddings.

Her feet crunched on the gravel driveway. She couldn’t see anyone outside and all the windows looking out on to the front had open curtains and dark interiors.

A few yards from the entrance she stopped. The large wooden doors were open and the room behind was dark and shadowed. She sent a text to Seraphine.

Today 08.52

I’m here. Alone

What now?

Bloom waited a few moments and then, when there was no reply, began to walk the perimeter of the house. Is this what Jameson had done? She pictured him ahead of her, possibly still jogging, trying to make his presence as innocent as possible. And then what? Where was he now? Had he found Karene and the children or had someone found him?

Her phone began to ring. It was Caroline. Bloom didn’t answer.

The rear of the house was plain with sun-scorched grass and occasional scatterings of confetti. There were floor- to-ceiling windows and, inside, stacks of chairs around wooden tables. On the back wall, there was a makeshift bar with a sign above it that said ‘Rufus and Olivia’ in an over-fussy font. On the far side of the building, a low annexe jutted out. She could see abandoned stepladders, dust sheets and paint pots surrounding it.

As she rounded the final corner back towards the car park, a man’s voice made her jump.