In the full-length image, Ruby was wearing the exact same clothes as the other woman had been: a long, hooded parka and knee-high boots. The jacket had a thin fur trim on the hood, the boots had a low heel. What was Ruby doing? Who was the other woman? And the most important question of all: Where the hell were they now?

“I don’t get it,” said Atkinson. “Why did they wear the same outfit?”

“They want to look the same,” said Joanna.

“Well, obviously, but—”

“Maybe it’s so that if they get seen, witnesses only think there’s one of them,” said Eddie.

“Hmm,” said Atkinson, “Not going to work in the age of CCTV, though, is it?”

“Not for long, no. But maybe they didn’t think they would be scrutinized this closely,” said Eddie.

“Maybe,” said Joanna, almost to herself, “when they planned this, they weren’t thinking of trying to avoid the police. Maybe it was a game.”

“Not much fun, though, really,” said Steve.

She thought of Ruby’s voice on the phone when she said she’d met some new friends. The way she sounded when she said the word complicated. The case was certainly that: she couldn’t get a sense of what they were doing, what or who they were running from or to.

No one spoke for a minute, their eyes on the photographs.

Atkinson pointed at the most recent image. “What are we calling this one?”

Ruby appeared in her mouth like a prayer. “B,” said Jo, swallowing the first part of the name. “Constance B, because she was the second one we found. The other one is Constance A. Until we know better.”

“Better than Jane Doe. Suppose neither are called Constance?”

One of them definitely isn’t, thought Harper, but she said, “That’s a possibility. But it’s such an unusual choice for a pseudonym, don’t you think? It must have some significance. Good to keep the name at the front of our minds.”

“We’ve been scouring the available CCTV, like you asked,” said Eddie. “We tracked B to where she started her journey to Cleethorpes. She came from Sheffield, was caught on the same camera as Constance A, but a couple of hours earlier.”

He showed her another image of Ruby, head down into the wind, hands thrust in pockets, waiting at the tram stop near the New Park for the next one to take her to the interchange. She could just be identified in profile. She seemed cold, vulnerable. Joanna thought she looked lonely. What had she gotten herself into?

Atkinson looked at the data on the sheet of paper Eddie had given him. “So, Constance B gets a train to Lincoln, where she waits for a connection to Grimsby that is due to get in at 15:34.”

“Right.”

“You know, she could easily be the one who attacked Gregor Franks.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Harper.