Laura stood in the doorway and watched him get into his car. She couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face. Relief? Or was it something else? For a moment he had looked — what? Triumphant? No, that didn’t make any sense. Laura made her way into the house, wondering what she might have said to have caused that strange look.

Inside, she went straight to the phone. She needed to talk to Sam.

* * *

To Annie’s delight, Callum was putting on a stellar performance. Sylvia Wilson was totally captivated. Poor Sylvia. Fancy waking up to find a muddy footprint on your duvet cover. She was full of admiration for Sylvia, who, after the initial shock, had rallied and was now furious at the intruder.

‘I think it’s a splendid idea, and I’ll certainly join you. One of my ancestors was a staunch suffragette, you know. She led marches, spoke at rallies and wasn’t afraid of being dragged off to the cells. I keep remembering that remarkable woman and I refuse to let myself cower at home.’

‘Excellent! Tomorrow, I’ll see if I can find Natalie Miles, his latest victim, and then we’ll all get together at my house — if that suits you, Sylvia?’

‘I’ll be there, never fear.’

Annie finished her tea. ‘It was your grandsons in the stolen photo, wasn’t it?’

‘Will and Bobbie,’ Sylvia said. ‘They were about nine and ten, almost your lad’s age. Lovely boys, but cheeky, not polite like your Callum here. He’s a credit to you, Annie.’

Callum put on his angelic expression. Annie ruffled his hair. He’d definitely earned himself extra TV time or a new book. ‘Thank you. He’s not too bad, all things considered.’

Sylvia was somewhere in her late sixties. She admitted that the intrusion had knocked her sideways for a while. She was so frightened she was even thinking of moving — and then she remembered her doughty forebear and her fear turned into anger. Imagine what it would do to someone of a nervous disposition. Why should they put up with it? No, that sneaky bastard wasn’t going to make her leave the home she loved.

Once they were back in the car, on their way home, Callum looked up from his detective’s notebook where he was carefully making notes. ‘Mum, what’s a suffer . . . suffra . . . ? You know, what she said. Is she one of those? They sound pretty tough.’

Annie chuckled. ‘Suffragette. Well, she could have been, I reckon, if she’d lived back in those days.’ She glanced at her son. ‘Okay, partner, what do you fancy for tea? Anything you like, you’ve earned it!’

* * *

DC Kevin Stoner stood outside Holy Trinity Church and looked up at the somewhat plain exterior. He had a vague memory of coming here with his father once for some special service, although he remembered nothing about it.