‘That’s very helpful, Mr Heath, it’s appreciated.’

Heath rose to his feet, his fragile ego temporarily boosted. He began walking back to the front door, increasing his pace more than once when his mother urged him on. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t contact you myself. I would have, had I thought it important.’

Lewis reached out and shook Heath’s hand firmly. ‘If you do think of anything else, don’t hesitate to contact me.’

‘That’s it, Henry, get rid of him. Out he goes.’

‘I will, Sergeant, I’m very glad you called. It’s been good to meet you.’

Lewis didn’t like Heath any more than when he’d first arrived as he stepped out of the house into the warmth of the day. He asked himself if the information he’d gleaned was useful. Maybe his visit was worthwhile, after all. Or were his gut instincts more accurate? There was something about Heath. Something that didn’t fit. The big detective turned back and waved on reaching the pavement, still wracked with doubts, as Heath closed the door.

29

Kesey drained her coffee cup, resisting the desire to take another chocolate eclair from her almost empty packet. She picked up her office phone on the third demanding ring. ‘CID, how can I help you?’

‘Hello, ma’am, it’s Sandra on the front desk.’

Kesey grinned, asking herself why the long-serving receptionist with her efficient and friendly persona, always felt the need to state the obvious. ‘What can I do for you, Sandra?’

‘I’ve got a Mr Michael Gavin here with me, who says he has some information relating to the Lottie Weller abduction.’

Kesey was on full alert in that instant. ‘Get someone to bring him up. I’ll see him in my office.’

Sandra responded in hushed tones the detective could barely hear, almost a whisper. ‘The lift’s playing up again. He’s in a wheelchair.’

‘Haven’t they fixed the damn thing yet?’

‘A technician is coming this afternoon, apparently. I’ll believe it when I see it.’

Kesey sighed. ‘Okay, put him in whatever interview room’s the most convenient. Keep an eye on him and don’t let him leave. This could be important. I’m on my way.’

‘I’ll put him in room two. There’s more space.’

Kesey entered the sparsely furnished, brightly lit interview room to be met by a somewhat overweight, middle-aged man with shoulder-length brown hair swept back in a ponytail, who looked up and forced an unconvincing smile that seemed strangely out of place. One of his legs was amputated at the knee. Kesey noted the military tattoo on his lower arm, the parachute, the wings, the crowned lion, all of which told their own story. She wondered if his time in the elite Parachute Regiment explained the disability as she reached down, shook his hand and introduced herself. He looked tired, worn down by life.

‘It’s good to meet you, Mr Gavin, my father served with the Royal Airforce. I was a military child. I’ve got a great deal of respect for veterans. I know how much dedication service involves.’