James hung up and sent a text to Annie telling her that he would soon be on his way home. Just as he finished, his phone rang again. This time it was one of the officers working with the SOCOs at Neil Savage’s flat.

‘I thought you should know that they’ve found something interesting, sir,’ she said. ‘It had been dumped in Savage’s bin.’

‘What is it?’

‘A plastic bag, sir. Inside were several photographs of Charlotte Bateman that had been ripped up. In one she’s standing between her parents. In another she’s sitting on Savage’s lap and kissing his cheek. There was also a Christmas card from her to him that has been torn to shreds. Forensics is going to try to put them all back together.’

James felt his pulse escalate. ‘It suggests to me that he’d fallen out with her.’

‘That’s the obvious conclusion to draw, sir,’ the officer said. ‘But it’s not the sort of thing one does after a minor tiff. He must have been mightily pissed off with her for some reason. Maybe she’d cheated on him. Or perhaps she’d told him that their relationship was over.’

‘Well, I know one thing for sure,’ James said. ‘The evidence against the guy is stacking up.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

James could feel the tiredness creeping up on him as he finally left the office. At the same time, pressure was forming behind his eyes and he hoped it wasn’t the onset of one of his tension headaches. He’d been having them for years, and sometimes they were so severe that it felt like a spike was being hammered into his skull.

There was a lot to think about during the drive home, and as soon as he hit the road, he started mentally adding things to his to-do list.

The last instruction he gave to the team was to pull out all the stops in an effort to find Neil Savage. The guy’s photo had been circulated to every force in the country and attempts were being made to trace all those who knew him.

As usual, James felt a frisson of guilt for going home at the end of day one of an investigation. But he’d learned a long time ago that tired coppers make mistakes. During his time in the Met, he’d come across dozens of detectives who were reluctant to delegate. They’d ignore their body clocks and work until they dropped. Invariably this caused tempers to flare, arguments to break out and vital clues to be missed.

As senior investigating officer, James couldn’t allow his mind to get fogged up by sheer exhaustion. He owed it to everyone to make sure that his batteries were fully charged at all times.