They drove in silence. Wynne didn’t want to talk. It had been a waste of time.

After a while, DS Chan spoke. ‘We’re not much further along. All we know is it was someone who was in Leeds on Wednesday.’

‘Or the day before, or the day before that,’ Wynne said. ‘The letter could have lain there for a while.’ She tapped the steering wheel. ‘It does solve one mystery though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Why there isn’t a letter for every year. If his method is to drop them and hope someone picks them up to post them then sometimes it won’t happen. Sometimes the letter will be trampled or kicked down a drain or put in a bin.’

‘It’s smart,’ Chan said. ‘He drops the letter somewhere and waits. It’s almost impossible to trace.’

Wynne stared at the road ahead. She’d been hoping this was the lead that would break the case open. She wanted Maggie back.

And she wanted the letters to stop, but she couldn’t help wondering how many more there would be.

One? Two?

Twenty?

Four Years Earlier: July 2014

Martin

1

COOPER ELECTRICAL

It was written in large capitals on the side of a van. Martin paused and watched the van go down Deansgate. The driver was Stephen Anderson, one of the first trainees he had taken on. That was seven years ago, and Stephen now oversaw all the projects they did in Manchester. Martin took care of the others – in Liverpool, Lancaster, Preston, Warrington – but was gradually handing them over to Karen Richardson, another trainee he had recruited when he had decided to branch out from doing jobs for other people and become an electrical firm.

It had been slow at first but in the last few years it had gone better than he had ever dreamed possible. He had a simple approach: he was careful who he hired, he was totally honest, and he never cut corners.

It seemed people liked it, and he now had a firm with over twenty full-time electricians and a turnover in the millions. It had attracted the attention of a national building firm, which was why he was in a shirt and trousers, about to go into the offices of an accounting firm in Manchester.

A woman in her late thirties was waiting by the front desk. She held out her hand.

‘Melinda Jameson. Pleased to meet you.’ She gestured towards a door. ‘We can talk in there.’

They sat at a polished metal table. There was a file in front of Melinda Jameson, which she picked up and opened.

‘So,’ she said. ‘You were contacted by Weaver Construction about acquiring your firm. I understand you would like to discuss having us represent you in this transaction?’

‘Yes,’ Martin said. ‘I have a lawyer and he gave me your name.’

‘Who was that, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Peter Sidwell.’