Neither man had heard of either company before, but a link between Atlas and Natasha Barclay soon became a lot clearer. The list of former directors included a Nathan Andrew Barclay. The deposits in his daughter’s account had, in all probability, come from her father’s company.

‘So Daddy paid for the flat, and kept her account topped up?’ said Porter. ‘That explains that, then.’

‘Mm hmm,’ said Styles, dropping the pages casually on his desk. ‘You couldn’t even buy a garage in parts of London for that price nowadays.’

Porter shook his head, not in disagreement but disbelief. He knew it to be true and was thankful, not for the first time, for the sanctuary of his own small flat. It had belonged to his wife since long before they had first met, left to her in her grandmother’s will, mortgage free. It was a compact two-bedroom flat, but without her to share it, the space sometimes felt disproportionately bigger than it actually was. He forced his thoughts back to the present situation.

‘Why you’d want to live in a garage is beyond me, but your tastes have always left a lot to be desired. Shall we head off and see if Mrs Locke is around for a chat?’ he said.

Styles nodded in agreement, springing to his feet and grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. Porter did the same, although with a little less enthusiasm, and slipped the envelope of photos into his jacket pocket as he headed for the exit. His brief flirtation with Holly’s memory had left him, as it often did, with the surreal sense that it had all happened to someone else. His recollection of her was still so fresh, as if he had kissed her goodbye on the way out to work this morning. Many people were haunted by ghosts from their past, but Porter classed his as more of a bittersweet relationship. As much as the flashbacks were a mixture of happy memories tinged with sadness, he cherished those he had, unable or perhaps unwilling to let go just yet.

The moment had passed by the time he made it outside, and he slid into the driver’s seat of the car, closing his door at the precise time Styles pulled his shut to give one synchronised thunk. Porter started it up and pulled away without a word. Time to speak to Mary Locke, and discover whether any more ghosts would be created today once they had done so. His subconscious kicked in with the afterthought:

What if Mary Locke has been living with ghosts of her own for some time already?

CHAPTER FOUR