‘And will you?’

‘Within reason. I’m working on the basis that as Sam was abducted and driven away in her own car, the kidnapper must either have left a vehicle nearby or arrived on public transport. We’ve got the CCTV in from both Woodmansterne and Chipstead stations, as well as buses in the area.’

‘It’s not going to be much help when we don’t know what he looks like.’

‘True enough. I guess he wouldn’t be dim enough to wear the car coat.’

‘What did ANPR show?’ Craig asked.

‘There are no hits on the Mitsubishi Warrior, but then I’m not surprised. He’d be crazy to use such a distinctive vehicle again. But it’s not been reported abandoned either.’

‘That sounds good. I’ve got my own plans.’

‘That sounds ominous.’ Her voice was cautionary.

‘Don’t worry, Claire. I’m just picking up a loose end. You might recall that Sam had an ex-boyfriend called Gary Harrison. A nasty piece of work, serial liar, used to knock her about. He’d have a grudge against both Sam and me.’

‘I don’t recall he was on your list?’

‘No, he wasn’t. I actually overstepped the mark when I put the frighteners on him when I first met Sam.’

‘I see,’ said Claire.

‘Five years ago he was married with two kids, and lived in the Addiscombe area of Croydon. I’m going to sneak back and get my notes from home, but if you would be kind enough to forward everything we have on him, and a proper address trace, I’d be very grateful.’

‘I will if you promise me not to go freelance on this.’

‘I promise, Claire. I won’t put you in a difficult position.’

‘Okay. I’m trusting you.’ She hung up.

Wallington Close in Addiscombe was a typical piece of 1990s infill development. Forty units of social housing, squeezed onto the sold-off gardens of 1930s semis. More vehicles than space for them, a good half of them parked on municipal lawns, which made the otherwise tidy homes look run down. It was 8.30 p.m. when Gillard’s Vauxhall cruised to the dead end of the street looking for number fifty-nine, the last known residence of Gary Harrison.

It was a few years ago now, when he had only just met Sam, that Gillard had taken illegal revenge on Sam’s ex for breaking into her home and beating her up. He had sneaked into the back of Harrison’s car and ambushed him when he drove off, almost suffocating him by sliding a plastic bag over his head, twisting the neck then punching him. It was necessary, but he wasn’t proud of it. He’d never even told Sam the details. And here he was again, breaking the rules to look for his nemesis.

There wasn’t a number fifty-nine.

The last home was forty-seven, a three-bedroom end of terrace without a garage, but with bin sheds and external meter cupboards beyond the paint flaked ranch-style fencing. A child’s BMX-type bike leaned against the wall just outside the porch.