As Caitlin had remarked, unless they had a definite make on the car the tyre tracks were a piss in the ocean. How many dark-coloured saloons were there, for heaven’s sake?

Kate saw Frederick Flowers arrive and heaved a sigh. The heavy mob was here. That meant the newspapers were already on to it.

Dicky Redcar was in shock. His three remaining children had been taken by relatives. His sister had wanted to stay with him, but he needed to be alone.

He sat in his study with a photograph of Cynthia and James on his lap. He could hear Major, one of his horses, whinnying outside the window.

The photograph showed Cynthia holding young James on a pony. He’d had a natural seat. All their children did. Rosie, nearly eleven, was already a name on the children’s eventing circuit. Jeremy, aged nine, was following in her footsteps. Even Sarah was a natural at five. It was what they had lived for. The horses, the children and each other.

Since returning from the Falklands, he had given up his army career and they had settled down to their ‘real life’, as they referred to it. He had seen enough death and carnage out there. He’d never expected to see it at home.

There was a knock at the door and he closed his eyes. He felt a shadow cross the window at his side and glanced up. Two men were standing there, smiling at him. Who the hell were they?

He rose from his seat and opened the window, putting the photograph on the sill.

‘What do you want?’

‘Hello.’ The man was tall and slim with a ready smile. ‘I wondered if we could have a word?’

The second man brought up a camera and the flash made Dicky Redcar reel.

Damned reporters!

‘Go away! Leave me alone. I have nothing to say to you.’

‘Come on now, sir, this is news. Five minutes and we’ll be gone.’

Dicky stepped away from them as if they were the plague. He side stepped his chair and stumbled from the room. The two men watched him bolt and shrugged their shoulders at each other. The tall man put his hand inside the open window and picked up the photograph.

‘Look what I’ve found.’ He raised his eyebrows in delight. ‘Not a bad-looking piece. Bit flat-chested, but you can’t have everything. Shame about the kid. His face is a bit blurred. Come on, let’s talk to the neighbours, see what we can gather. I hope he was a war hero, that always makes great copy.’

The two men slunk away.

Major whinnied again, wondering where his mistress was with his morning carrot.

Patrick was on a high. He had not slept from when he had left George Markham’s, his energies set on finding out everything about him.