Doug shot me a wry look. “It will be some council tax dodge or one of these two-home wealthy types who keeps the place going as a weekend retreat but never uses it.” His wide mouth slipped into a despondent smile. “Not that netting some big splash about bodies under the floorboards or haunted mansions will make any difference to us soon, anyway.”

I spent the next couple of hours with the office phone clamped to my ear for so long it was turning a fetching shade of puce.

And as I suspected, I would have had more success getting the mobile number of Idris Elba than getting any information about Merry Wood or its occupants.

My main contact at the local police station had no knowledge of the house. There had never been any reports of any disturbances there, let alone missing persons.

As for the council, April, my contact in the press office there, was unable to assist either. “I’ve asked around and there’s nothing on record about this house. Are you sure you got the name right?”

“Absolutely. I saw the name plaque with my own eyes.”

April sighed. “Well, even if I were to pass you over to a couple of colleagues in our Housing Section, they couldn’t give you information about individual properties or occupants anyway. Data Protection.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “I guessed as much. Thanks anyway, April.”

I was about to hang up, when she must have taken pity on me. “Tell you what. Seeing as I’m in such a wonderful mood today, give me half an hour and I’ll see what I can find out. I have a friend who works at Registers of Scotland.”

“Thanks April. I owe you.”

“No luck?” asked Frances, witnessing my dejected expression as I rang off.

I shook my head. “Not a thing. There doesn’t seem to be any information on this house or who lives or has lived there. It’s really weird.”

Frances chewed the inside of her mouth. “No neighbours close by that you can interrogate?”

I thought back to the frosty woman with the gimlet eyes. “There was one person.”

“Then get back there and work your magic on them,” she enthused. “If it turns out there is a big enough story with this, one of the nationals might pick up on it and that could lead to a job or some freelance work for you.”

Frances coloured at her own words as she realised what she was saying. “I’m so sorry.”

I frowned. “What for?”

“For joining the dark side,” she half joked. “Honestly, Leonie, I feel terrible about what’s happened.”

“Then don’t,” I insisted firmly. “It’s not your fault. And anyway, you have the twins to think about.”

France’s red-slicked mouth trembled. “I still feel like shit about it all.”

“Well please don’t. I’m sure I’ll get something else soon.”