He parked the BMW and they walked to the front entrance, Agatha bringing both Con’s laptop and a black leather folio. Barking sounded from up ahead and two shaggy border collies appeared, their tails wagging.

Con grinned, and crouched.

The mansion’s door swung open. ‘Millie, Max! No!’ shouted a thin, athletic-looking woman – Bree’s mother, Isabel Wilkins. ‘Oh, it’s you lot, is it?’

‘It’s alright, ma’am.’ Con pushed the dogs away from his face as they started licking his mouth.

‘Well? Why are you here?’ said Isabel. ‘It’s a bit late, isn’t it? Bree is dead.’

‘The forensics report has come in overnight,’ said Agatha. ‘I’d like to discuss it with you and your husband.’

‘Will it bring her back?’ snapped Isabel, as she tossed her hair back and walked inside.

Con and the commander followed.

‘I’m guessing she doesn’t like police?’ said Con.

‘My guess is she’s angry and isn’t sure who to blame. In her defence, it’s remarkable that Bree managed to evade police and all the search efforts, to the point where she could hang herself on that tree. She has good reason to assume we weren’t doing our jobs properly.’

Isabel waited for them at the end of the timber-lined corridor, in the massive dining room, where no fewer than thirteen people were eating a breakfast of bacon and eggs. She squeezed the shoulders of a burly dark-haired man sitting at the table, dressed in a dirty hi-vis farming shirt and ragged jeans. Con recognised him as Marcus Wilkins – he had seen him up at the car park on the day the girls went missing. His eyes were ringed by shadows and he wiped his sleeve across a chin dark with stubble before making to stand.

‘No, please stay seated, Mr Wilkins. Could we have the room, please?’ said Agatha to everyone else, midway through their breakfast.

‘I’ll not have you ordering my family about,’ said Isabel shrilly.

Marcus waved his hand. ‘It’s alright, guys. It’ll be about Bree.’ His voice broke on her name.

The other people in the room left, muttering among themselves, until only Isabel and Marcus remained.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ said Marcus. He extended a callused hand to Con. ‘Marcus Wilkins. I haven’t met you yet, but I understand you’ve been leading the investigation.’

‘You’ve volunteered for the SES search, Mr Wilkins?’

‘For all the good it did,’ he muttered.

Isabel rubbed his shoulders. ‘He doesn’t stop. As soon as he finishes work, he heads out there onto the mountains. He’s back long after dark, and then up before the sun to see to the cattle.’ She pierced Con with her gaze. ‘You can’t expect him to keep going up there. Our daughter is dead!’

Marcus reached up to pat Isabel’s hand absently. ‘Forgive Isabel. She knows you aren’t truly to blame.’

Isabel sniffed.