The estate agent hurried outside; Imogen and Matt followed him just in time to see him slam his car door and pull away noisily, and then they were alone again on the street. It was still dark. Imogen looked at her watch. The way the night was progressing, she wasn’t sure she’d even get a chance to go home and have a shower, let alone sleep.

She pulled out her phone and called Adrian. No answer. She called Gary instead.

‘Hi, we found Russ Beacham’s body in Scarborough Street. DI Walsh is securing the scene and calling techs in. Is Adrian still there?’

‘No, he left just before Finn Blackwell was released.’

‘Blackwell’s gone? Bugger,’ Imogen said.

‘Only just, last half hour. Don’t know where Adrian went though.’

‘I have tried his phone, but it went straight to answerphone. I don’t suppose you can find out where he is?’

‘I’m just checking now. That’s funny …’ Gary said.

‘What’s funny?’ Imogen said.

‘His phone is off. He is either out of range or asleep already, I guess.’

‘He doesn’t switch his phone off to sleep,’ Imogen said.

‘Oh yeah – how would you know?’ Gary jibed, unaware that he had made her blush.

‘Because we sometimes get calls in the middle of the night,’ she answered quickly.

‘I’ll see if I can find out where he went. He’s not answering his house phone either.’

‘We’re just waiting for the uniforms then we’ll be back at the station. Keep trying.’

Imogen hung up the phone. Something was definitely not right. She didn’t even need to think about it for too long to know that Adrian was doing something stupid. Knowing how susceptible he was to guilt, she expected he’d taken it upon himself to try to fix things. Now she just had to figure out where he had gone and what exactly he was trying to do.

Chapter Forty-Seven

The room came into focus and Adrian tried to reach up to his head, but he couldn’t move his hands. He was taped to a chair at his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles. He could taste blood on his lips; he’d been punched in the face. The room was dark, with only one candle lit on top of a piano that was nestled in one of the alcoves. Adrian couldn’t make much else out about the room; the curtains were drawn and there was a dusty smell in the air. As he adjusted to his surroundings, he could hear gentle breathing. He scoured the room for a sign of his attackers.

‘Hello, Detective Miles,’ Parker said.

For the briefest of moments, a surge of dread ran through Adrian’s body as he thought that Parker had strapped him to the chair. He didn’t want to turn but he did. Parker was in a chair not three feet away from him, also strapped in. His face was covered in blood; he looked like he had taken a couple of punches. All in all, this was a better situation than the one Adrian had assumed he was in less than five seconds ago.