He grimaced. ‘I’ll give those a skip today, if it’s all the same with you.’

‘Oh well, your loss.’ Marie pulled on her jacket. ‘I’ll ring you later, boss.’

Jackman made calls to the local police in both locations and prepared to brief Ruth Crooke. Then, while everyone was out, he would go over what they had so far. Things were starting to happen, and he wanted to be ahead of the game.

* * *

At the same time as Marie threaded her way between the late-season holidaymakers and watched storm clouds gathering overhead, Max and Charlie were parking outside thirteen Hilary Court. It was a small estate of new builds, mainly lower- and middle-priced housing. Number thirteen was a detached property built to a modern design. Being at the end of a little cul-de-sac, it had a larger garden than the others, wrapped around it on three sides.

Max was disappointed to get no response to his knock. He’d been keen to see this diabolical woman for himself.

He stood back and stared up at the house. It had every appearance of being deserted. The curtains were half pulled — something that his mum used to do when she went away. He’d told her a dozen times that it only drew attention to the place, but she wouldn’t have it. You developed a feel for places in his job, and this one felt empty and unloved.

‘Round the back?’ asked Charlie, indicating to a side gate.

Max nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe we can get a butcher’s inside if there’s a French window. I reckon she’s away, don’t you?’

‘Looks like it.’

They strolled into the back garden. It had been recently planted and had a freshly laid lawn bordered by flower beds and a shrubbery. Trees from an older neighbouring property edged the boundary on two sides.

‘Nice little suntrap in summer,’ commented Charlie. ‘But she needs to learn about weeding or it’ll be a wilderness by autumn.’

‘Thank you, Alan Titchmarsh,’ laughed Max. He tried the back door. ‘Locked. Let’s check those patio doors. They look like they might lead out from the lounge.’

They started across the flagstones, then stopped, mid-stride.

‘Is this what I think it is?’ asked Charlie in a low voice.

‘Yep. That’s blood all right.’

The white uPVC doorstep and the edge of the big patio door were smeared with dark, brownish dried blood.

Max noticed smudged tracks along the paving and on to the grass. ‘Someone has dragged someone or something out into the garden. Come on, let’s see what the hell happened here.’

When they reached the edge of the lawn, they saw that the soil of the flower bed had been disturbed. They made out two deep grooves.

‘I could be wrong, but I reckon those are heel marks,’ said Max.

They moved more slowly now, careful not to cause too much contamination.