‘Well, I gather you’re a courier. If you’re looking for a house along this stretch, some of them have changed their names in the last year or so. Birchwood is now called Long Eaton, and the Hawthorns is called Moorcroft. Don’t think either have their proper name plates up yet. Dunno why folk have to do that, do you?’

‘Confusing for us, that’s for sure,’ she said. ‘Thanks anyway. You take care.’

She rode off. She remembered passing a long, low, chalet-style house with a big double garage called the Hawthorns. So that was Giles Bannon’s new home.

She slowed and cruised past. The house wasn’t luxurious, but still pretty upmarket. She counted three, maybe four bedrooms, and what looked like a granny annexe. It was surrounded by shrubs, trees and conifers, and the nearest neighbour was at least 500 yards away. Not a bad spot, if you wanted to hide.

There had been no car in the drive, and blinds at all the windows. The place looked shut down, the life of the occupant invisible to the world. His neighbours had turned on him in the past, so this didn’t come as a surprise.

She opened the throttle and sped away. Now she knew where to find him, she could get on with her day — and look forward to a late-night telephone conversation with a certain detective . . .

* * *

At around four p.m., Laura drove home after a gruelling day. She had been part of a crisis team dealing with a client who had suffered a serious episode and was in danger of injuring himself. Normally, she was able to deal with such issues and move on. Today, however, she had been unable to maintain her usual detachment. She longed to be home and wrapped in the comfort of Rowan’s arms, but he was involved in a difficult case, so she’d probably be spending the evening alone.

As she pulled up beside the mill, her heart sank. Another car, and she knew who it belonged to. Fuming, she parked and got out, just as Freddie Shields emerged from his.

‘Mr Shields. You know I can’t see you without an appointment. Patients can’t just turn up when they choose.’

‘I know. I’m so sorry. Normally I wouldn’t consider doing such a thing, but I didn’t know who else to turn to. Please, can I talk to you for a few minutes?’

He did look frantic with worry, and Laura relented. ‘Five minutes, Mr Shields, and then you have to go. We have an appointment for Friday, as we arranged.’

He followed her into her consulting room. As soon as she’d shut the door, he blurted, ‘It’s getting worse. I drove again last night. I have no idea where I went, but this morning I saw thirty more miles on the clock. Thirty miles! Where did I go? What did I do?’