‘We received a notification from dispatch. They had a pretty weird call come in. Someone rang 999. It was a girl, and all she said was “Maggie Cooper”, before the line went dead. The dispatcher recognized the name and flagged it to us.’

‘Do they know whose phone it was from?’

‘Yes. A mobile. Belongs to someone called Best. Man in his sixties. Known to us.’

Wynne stared at the PC.

‘Still at 7 Dover Street?’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because,’ Wynne said. ‘I know that bastard from years ago.’

Martin

Martin sat in the waiting room. He had a magazine – it was about golf, and had a picture of someone he didn’t know holding a trophy he didn’t recognize on the front – on his lap, but he wasn’t reading it. He couldn’t. He’d only picked it up to keep his hands busy.

He flicked through a few pages, then put it back on the table. He got to his feet and walked to the window. It looked over the car park. He searched for his red Audi. An S4. Fast. Expensive, but not too flash. Great engineering. A good use of the money he had.

Nothing other than a bauble. It meant nothing to him at all.

He wanted Sandra to be OK. That was all he asked.

Maggie was gone, he was resigned to that now. He had been for a while. James – well, James was alive, at least. Not doing well, but not getting worse. It was time to sort that out. Whatever happened with Sandra he was going to bring James home. He wasn’t going to lose all of them.

He’d tried, over the years, not to feel sorry for himself, he really had. After all, he had plenty going for him. Good health, plenty of money, a wife he adored. Yes, James was a worry, and of course there was Maggie, but he still had his blessings.

Now, though, he wondered whether a bit of self-pity wasn’t in order.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t time for that yet. She might be fine; Maggie might come home James might get well.

Yeah, right.

But for now he needed to focus on Sandra.

He walked back to his seat. The receptionist smiled at him.

‘She won’t be long, love,’ she said.

Martin sat down. He felt sick.

Wynne

DI Wynne held her hand on the horn. The light was red and she didn’t see any other cars approaching but if you were going to ignore a red light it was worth letting people know.

There were squad cars on the way, but she was not waiting for them. There was no time to waste.

A woman’s voice on Best’s phone, saying the name Maggie Cooper. There were possibly other explanations, but Wynne could only think of one.