Although there was precious little to report, Swifty kept them abreast of developments in the cases against Grove and Hemmings. Every day had brought new evidence to light about the indecent images of children and the pornography racket. It had been a big, well-organised business and Grove had been much more than just the go-between on the marsh. Offshore accounts traced back to him showed up a lot of money. The cottage on the marsh for the “reclusive entomologist” was just a temporary and useful base, being situated so close to where his delivery boats came in. They also discovered that he had other properties scattered around the country. The business had yielded him rich pickings and, apparently, another year working from Whisper Fen would have seen him ready to cash in and disappear abroad.

Despite all this, evidence proving that he had also abducted Sophie was much more difficult to find, and with the child unable to help, the police were growing increasingly frustrated. The boy Grove was alleged to have kidnapped some years ago had disappeared without trace. There was nothing suspicious about this. The young man had taken to the streets the previous year and had not been heard of in months.

Bryn Owen finally admitted that there was a real danger that Grove would get away with abduction again. They were still sure that he had taken her, but proving it was a different matter. So far they didn’t have nearly enough evidence for the CPS. He would certainly go down for all the other crimes, but most likely not for taking Sophie.

Tempers were running high at the police station, and patience wearing thin in the family unit where Sophie was being looked after.

And on Whisper Fen, time stood still.

* * *

The following weekend, Sam, who had been staying on to lend Will his support, announced that he needed to go home. He had mail and messages to attend to, and he ought to make sure that his cottage was okay. He promised to return the following Monday.

On Sunday evening, at the end of a miserable, drizzly day, Will had a visitor.

Will was shocked by the change in him. Philip Fauve looked as grey as the weather. He had visibly lost weight, was unshaven, and his usual buzz cut had grown out. Will was reminded of Kate’s abrupt change from a healthy, vivacious brunette to a lank and dreary stranger in scruffy clothes.

They went into the lounge, where Will poured him a large scotch and they sat facing the log fire.

‘How is she?’ Will asked.

‘They say she is improving, but I can’t see it,’ Philip said.

‘Have you been allowed in to see her?’