The hinted abuse made the detective’s guts feel like they were trying to turn inside out. He forced down the rising bile, and tried to quarantine his emotions. Poor Sam. What she must be suffering. He didn’t have time to indulge his rage, but it was there, a gathering shadow over everything.

Twenty-four hours!

The voice, that’s what he must concentrate on. He didn’t recognise it at all. It was hard to match it against his memory of the shouts of the man who tried to run him over. What he could hear now was a southern accent, almost jaunty, not London particularly, nor Essex. Could it be Gary Harrison? He had been her boyfriend, so enjoying her ‘again’ might reference that. Gillard had never heard him talk. The one perfect person to have answered that question was of course poor Sam herself. This was a really important piece of evidence. The NCA would have access to linguistic experts who could narrow down the origin of this accent to within a few square miles. But probably not within twenty-four hours.

Gillard played the message again, recording it on his mobile, then rang the incident room, getting straight through to Otara. The NCA expert was ecstatic about the trace they had got on the caller’s mobile. ‘Fantastic, we were hoping for a breakthrough like this. We’ve got a location, in the village of Westmeare.’

‘Westmeare?’ His first thought was Adrian Singer, who lived there, but had gradually been sidelined as a suspect. The voice Gillard had heard on the message was quite different from the more cultured tones of the music teacher.

‘We’ve three cars on their way, the first is just three minutes away,’ Otara said. ‘Stay strong!’

He cut the line, leaving Gillard staring at the handset. He had never felt so impotent. He was just thinking about how to track down Ellen when the landline rang. He picked it up.

‘Is that Craig Gillard?’ The voice was female and vaguely familiar.

‘Yes,’ he said cautiously.

‘It’s Ellen Bramley, Sam’s friend—’

‘Ah, what a coincidence! I’ve been trying to track you down.’

‘Craig, I’m so sorry I didn’t call earlier. I heard from one of the other former cadets that something terrible’s happened to Sam. That she’s disappeared or something.’

Chief Constable Alison Rigby had made clear that not a whisper of the kidnapping was to leave Mount Browne, not even to family members or close friends. A round robin from her to all Surrey Police staff warned that even a single article in the press might jeopardise Sam’s life. Gillard had only been given permission to let Sam’s parents know after reassuring the higher-ups that they could keep a secret.

‘Ellen, this is really, really important. I can’t tell you what has happened to Sam, except that her life is in grave danger.’

The cry of sympathy, and a great rush of questions, brought Gillard’s own emotions close to the surface. He fought hard to keep his own voice steady. ‘Ellen, we don’t have much time and I need you to help me, even if you think the information I’m requesting may be sensitive and not relevant. I need to ask you some questions about your ex-boyfriend.’