Chapters (41)
- Cover
- WHAT FALLSBETWEEN THE CRACKS
- DEDICATION
- CONTENTS
- PROLOGUE
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- NATASHA – APRIL 1983
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- NATHAN – APRIL 1983
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- NATASHA – APRIL 1983
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- GEORGE – APRIL 1983
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- GEORGE – APRIL 1983
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- MARY – APRIL 1983
- GEORGE – APRIL 1983
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- GEORGE – APRIL 1983
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- BY ROBERT SCRAGG
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
There had been over nine thousand pounds in the account back in 1983. That would have stood out to Porter as a healthier than average balance even today. The birth certificate they had tracked down said she would have been twenty-one back then. Set against the context of her age, plus the fact the balance was from over thirty years ago, that was a staggering amount for her to have just lying around in a current account.
He was trying to figure out how to work out the modern day equivalent, taking inflation into consideration, when he heard Styles end the call he’d been making. Styles had specialised in financial crime before he’d made the move across to the Homicide and Serious Crime squad. Porter was sure that his partner was the man to ask, and swivelled around to face him.
‘Anything from the door to door?’ asked Styles before Porter could open his mouth.
‘More of the same,’ said Porter, shaking his head. ‘No one’s laid eyes on her full stop. I’ve got something you can help me with, though,’ he said, picking up the bank statement, and explaining what he was trying to do.
‘Yep, that’s easily done,’ said Styles. He turned to face his monitor and one quick Google search later, had a site up that promised to do the calculation for them. ‘How much did you say she had?’ he asked.
‘A little over nine grand.’
‘What I’d give for that now, never mind thirty years ago,’ said Styles. He tapped the figure into a box, used a drop-down menu to select the year in question, and clicked the button to calculate. He looked at the result, then sat back and whistled through his teeth.
‘That look right to you?’ asked Porter.
‘’Bout three times that in today’s money – yep, looks around what I was expecting.’
‘Where the hell does a twenty-one-year-old get that kind of cash from?’ Porter rubbed his hand over his chin, feeling tiny pricks of Braille-like stubble that he’d missed with his razor.
‘Have we found anyone we can ask the question to yet?’
Porter shook his head. ‘Not quite, but I found out a few interesting things before I got distracted with the update on the neighbours.’