‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Fleet said. ‘Sidelined would probably be more accurate. I was given a desk and a stack of cold case files. It turned out Ben Draper’s was among them.’ Missing persons had always been Fleet’s speciality, more by accident than design, and as a thinly disguised punishment for the way Fleet had conducted the Saunders investigation, Superintendent Roger Burton had decided to make things official. The problem wasn’t that Fleet had failed to solve the case; rather, it was that he’d managed to make Burton look foolish in the process. As such, every one of the files the superintendent had given Fleet related to a disappearance that had never been resolved – and, more to the point, most likely never would be, as Burton would have known all too well. Just like the people who were missing – caught somewhere between life and death – Fleet had been consigned to a form of purgatory.

As for Nicky, she could easily have distanced herself from Fleet in the wake of the Saunders investigation, but she’d chosen not to. Just the opposite, in fact. She’d formally requested to be included on Fleet’s team – which, counting Fleet and Nicky, was now a task force of two. When Fleet had warned her of the potential implications for her career – there was no glory in cold cases, and few happy endings – Nicky had refused to be deterred. At least it’s proper police work, boss, she’d said to him. And the best part is, most of the paperwork has already been filled in. Her show of loyalty had left Fleet feeling both flattered and delighted. He and Nicky had worked together several times over the years, but largely by accident, and it was as though the Saunders case had cemented their mutual admiration. Maybe Fleet didn’t have many friends, but he was proud to count Nicky among them.

‘Well,’ said Randy, ‘I suppose cold cases are something the three of us have in common.’ He looked at Ben’s remains. ‘Will they let you keep this one? Given who’s potentially involved?’

‘Are you kidding?’ said Fleet, smiling grimly. ‘Who else is going to want it now?’

Monday 21 October, 11.47 a.m.

Outside, Nicky had wandered off a few paces to return a call she’d missed on her mobile. Fleet perched over the wheel arch of his car, and took the opportunity to light a cigarette. The smell of the mortuary – bleach, bodies – had caught in his nostrils, and he wanted to smoke it out. Officially, he’d given up, but that was going about as well as his diet. He knew how disappointed in him Holly would have been, but seeing as they were no longer married, what Holly would have thought no longer seemed to matter.