The Tudor-style house, all beams and trailing ivy, stood well back from the road. There was a golf course behind.

“Obviously loaded, and no doubt Otley has sent us on another wild-goose chase,” commented Tennison. “OK, we both go in—and straighten your tie, Burkin!”

Large stone eagles and huge urns of flowers and ivy flanked the heavy oak door. There was an old-fashioned bell-push and, next to it, a modern plastic bell.

The deep bellow of a large dog was the first response to Tennison’s ring. She stepped back and waited, hearing footsteps on a stone-flagged floor. Then the door was opened wide.

“Major Howard? I am Detective Chief Inspector Tennison and this is Detective Inspector Burkin. Do you think we could ask you a few questions?”

With a slight frown he replied, “Yes, of course. Do come in.”

They followed the major through the echoing hall into a vast drawing room with french windows overlooking a rolling, immaculate lawn. There were oil paintings and ornate statues in abundance, elegant sofas and chairs covered in rose silks. Even Tennison could tell that the thick, sculptured Chinese carpet was worth several years’ salary. The whole place smelt of money.

A little over-awed, Tennison watched the major closely as he apologized for his shirt-sleeves and put his jacket on over his dark green cords and checked shirt. Tall and well-built, he had obviously been a very handsome man in his youth. Now, with iron-gray hair and a back straight as a die, he still exuded the sort of easy charm that comes with total confidence.

He turned to DI Burkin. “Sit down, Inspector. Now, what can I do for you? Is there something wrong?”

Tennison stepped forward. “Thank you, sir, I’ll stand. I am Detective Chief Inspector Tennison. I hope we will not take up too much of your time, but we are enquiring about your daughter. She has been reported missing?”

The major looked surprised. “By whom?”

Tennison was annoyed at herself for having to check her notebook. “A young man by the name of Michael Hardy. He gave this address.”

The major frowned. “Well, I hope this isn’t some practical joke, that’s her boyfriend. My daughter Karen doesn’t actually live with us, she shares a flat with some girls in Kensington. I’d better call my wife, see if she can get to the bottom of this. Reported missing? Are you sure? I haven’t heard the first thing about it. To be honest, I thought it was about Karen’s car. She got a new Mini for her birthday and her parking tickets are always being sent here. We’ve had some fair old arguments about that. But please, I won’t be a moment, excuse me.”

As soon as he was out of the room, Tennison walked across to the grand piano on which stood a number of family photographs. One, in a particularly large frame, showed a girl holding the reins of a pony and smiling into camera. She would be about ten years old. The next photograph was of a family Christmas, with everyone in paper hats roaring with laughter. Tennison’s heart started thumping and she moved along to the photo that had caught her eye.