‘It’s easier for me, actually,’ Connie said. ‘Your brain fools you. It sees a patch of red against a mass of other red information and it’s hard to differentiate. My brain only deals in shades. The additional liquid on top of the red paint made a denser shadow. The usefulness stops there when I have no clue what the liquid might be. Could have been engine oil or mustard for all I’d have known.’ She took out her mobile and photographed the spot. ‘We have scenes of crime incoming, right?’

‘We do. I’m guessing if that’s Elspeth’s blood then we’re either waiting for a ransom call, or looking for a corpse.’

‘Not enough evidence to assume that, even if it is her blood,’ Connie said. ‘Don’t tell her husband yet, but get this rushed through the police labs – and I mean rushed like fast food, not rushed like passing new legislation.’

‘Point taken. I’ll chase it up personally. I should be able to get next-day DNA results if I make a couple of calls.’

‘That’s impressive. What squad were you with in London?’

‘Met Operations. I have a few years’ experience in what used to be called the kidnap unit. I suspect they were perfectly happy to pack me off up here. I don’t think I quite fit the Met Ops’ new cool, slightly unshaven, three hours a day in the gym, alpha-male type.’

‘Are there no women in Met Ops?’ Connie asked.

‘They’re also more alpha-male than me, I’m afraid,’ he smiled.

‘Actually, recent studies have proved that the alpha typing is often a handicap when it comes to higher-ranking promotions and long-term personal partnerships. Management wants quiet calm and diplomacy with an analytic brain, and relationships require longevity with warmth and humour.’

‘Sir!’ The shout came from near the driveway entrance in some bushes.

Connie and Baarda made their way towards the officer calling them, standing far enough back not to corrupt the scene.

‘What is it?’ Baarda asked.

‘Shoe, just the left one. Definitely female, and it matches the description given by the missing person’s husband.’ The officer held up one gloved hand.

From her fingertips dangled a pale slip-on sports shoe with little scuffing or wear. It was fairly new, and it hadn’t been in the dirt long, Connie concluded.

‘Any blood spatters on it?’ she asked Baarda, who stepped forward to inspect it.

‘Nothing visible. Can you point to where exactly you found it?’

The officer pointed about a metre from her feet, approximately two metres into the undergrowth.

‘So either it flew off her foot when she was kicking and resisting, or she was sufficiently aware of what was happening to make sure she left us a sign that she’d been taken against her will and threw it in there. Her assailant couldn’t let her go and risk wasting time searching for it,’ Connie said.