‘This is the car,’ he said. ‘But she’s not here. It’s empty.’

‘They could be in the pub?’ one of the officers, a man in his late twenties, said.

‘Possible,’ Dudek said. ‘But my guess is they aren’t having a leisurely drink while the kidnapper works out the next stage in his dastardly plan.’

‘Worth checking, though,’ Wynne said. ‘Do you have a photo of Mrs Westbrook?’

The officer nodded.

‘Show it around. See if anyone saw her. Also ask if anyone saw the car arrive.’ She looked around. The Golf was parked in the corner, maybe fifty yards from the pub. ‘No doubt they parked here for a reason,’ she said. ‘But someone may have seen them. You can both go. It looks busy in there.’

The two officers set off for the pub. Wynne looked at Dudek.

‘So why do you think the kidnapper would have driven it here, having first pulled into the car park of the truck stop?’ she said.

‘Because he realized there was CCTV at the truck stop.’

‘You’re assuming it’s a he,’ Wynne said. ‘But let’s go with that for now. If he knew there was CCTV at the truck stop, then he must have realized the CCTV would show him leaving,’ Wynne said. ‘So he’s back where he started.’

‘So he comes to the pub,’ Dudek said. ‘To switch vehicles.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not here. He’d have to drag a woman – either unconscious, or, if she was awake, struggling and screaming – from one vehicle to another. It’s too public.’

‘So why come here?’ Dudek said.

Beyond the car park was a field. Wynne gestured across it. ‘Maybe he took her that way. On foot.’ She paused. ‘But that raises the same objection. If she’s unconscious, he’d have to carry her. And if she’s conscious and on foot, why wouldn’t she resist? Try to draw attention? Or just run into the pub. There’s something we’re missing.’

She looked around the car park. She pictured the blue Golf pulling in and driving to the far corner of the car park. The driver’s side door opening and a figure in a hoodie getting out, then opening the rear door and reaching in to pull out a slumped, unconscious body.

That was impossible. Far too risky.

She pictured the kidnapper opening the car door and ushering Annabelle Westbrook out, then leading her over the wall and into the field.

Impossible, too. Even if she was drugged it would draw attention.

So if both were impossible, what did that leave?

It hit her, and she closed her eyes.

‘Shit,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe we missed this.’

‘What did we miss?’

‘Think about it. There’s no way he could have brought her here. What would he do with her? It’s too public. Which leaves only one option: he didn’t bring her here.’

‘But the car’s here.’