Dark, and eerily quiet. Not for the first time, she wondered how Meredith could bear to live in such a secluded place. But it was one of many contradictions in the woman’s personality. She seemed so lonely and isolated, and yet chose to live out here on her own. She shunned people, yet worked in a customer-facing role – and did a great job with it. Gemma had sat in the shop with her the day before, and despite all the trauma Meredith had recently suffered, she was unfailingly polite, good-natured and helpful to each and every visitor who trailed in and out of the door in search of Minstead House toffee and tea towels. It was as if she was able to shut out the unwelcome emotions completely. Perhaps, Gemma thought, that was a throwback from her days in the public eye, where constant media scrutiny had taught her extreme self-possession.

The gate slid open and Gemma drove slowly in. She parked in the staff car park, which was empty apart from Meredith’s quirky little vintage car and two others, presumably night security. So she was likely still on the premises. That was good – wasn’t it? As Gemma approached the steps at the far end of the car park, down to Meredith’s cottage, she could see a light or two burning in the windows. Feeling prematurely relieved that everything looked normal, she walked up to the cottage, noting that the gate had swung open.

She banged the door knocker, loudly, the sound reverberating around the silent grounds. Nobody came, so she banged again, then moved across and peered through the living-room window. The curtains were drawn, but she was able to see a sliver of the room through a gap. It didn’t look as if anyone was there.

Gemma checked the time on her phone – 10.20 p.m. It was possible that Meredith was in the bath, or had gone to bed, but surely she wouldn’t sleep through the sound of hammering on the door? She’d be down, to check it wasn’t Pete coming back – or to see if someone was bringing news of him. She rang Meredith’s mobile again and held her ear to the letterbox to see if she could hear its ringtone coming from inside the house. Still nothing.

She wasn’t there. This was now seriously worrying.

Gemma took out her phone, realising she’d left her radio in the car: ‘Mav— … Mark? It’s me again, Gemma. Sorry to ring you so late, but I’m worried. I’m at Minstead but can’t get hold of Meredith Vincent. Has Emad rung you and told you what he found out about that escaped prisoner? The thing is, Meredith’s car’s here but there’s no sign of her at home.’