I read every word, looking for a mention of Nick. I find it eventually, at the end of the article, the investigative journalist pointing to the interesting coincidence that one of Angus Moody’s employees disappeared in April. Police sources deny that there is any connection between the two events, but I don’t believe it for one minute. Even writing that paragraph connects them. I call Detective Inspector Marsh, go through to his voicemail and leave a message asking him to get in touch with me urgently. I explain it’s about Nick’s boss. There must be something in this. There has to be.

I glance at the clock. The day is getting away from me. I’ve got a viewing in half an hour and I haven’t walked Toffee yet. I decide to combine the two, quick-marching my patient little dog along the paths that criss-cross the Common. At the parade, I tie him up outside the estate agent’s – not Bonner and Brightman, George Bonner still scuttles off if he sees me coming – and glance at the photograph of Anna’s house that appeared in the window last week. It’s available to rent, and this morning there’s a red Let sticker across the price. Someone has snapped it up. I’m glad because it means she can’t change her mind now. She won’t be back for at least a year, maybe even three if it’s a long let.

The agent I’m dealing with, Eva, a Polish woman with a bouncy ponytail and large hoop earrings, rises from her chair to greet me. She’s wearing heels and they click on the pavement as we make our way to the house. The quickest way to get there is down Camomile Avenue.

There’s a van parked outside Anna’s house, its back doors open. I twitch my collar up and walk faster, praying that Anna doesn’t come out. Eva is making small talk beside me, but I stop listening because Alex Wells comes out carrying a box. He puts it in the back of the van and goes back for more. He hasn’t seen me. Eva and I reach the end of the street and I finally tune in to her voice.

‘So, my sister is coming to stay,’ Eva says. ‘She’ll be sleeping on my sofa, but that’s OK. It’s a big flat.’

‘How lovely,’ I respond. ‘I see Camomile Avenue is let.’

‘Thank goodness.’

‘Why? Were you worried it was going to be hard to shift?’

‘No, not at all. It was her. Nightmare client. She’s the lady who was attacked on the Common last month.’

‘Oh really?’ I say innocently, my eyebrows shooting up. ‘Yes, I do remember that. Poor thing.’