What if James is heading straight there now? What if he gets there before she can warn her dad? There’s a payphone five minutes down the road. She’ll call him first, and the police second if needs be. Whatever it takes to stop this from happening.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Porter felt his mouth go dry as Will Leonard came through the door and headed over towards him. He’d cashed in some brownie points in persuading Leonard to rush the tests through, and studied the approaching face for a hint of the results, but Leonard gave nothing away.

‘Hey, Will,’ said Porter, trying to remain calm. ‘That was quick, even for you.’

‘Most people go for the flattery before they ask the favour.’

Porter couldn’t bring himself to beat around the bush. ‘Well? Is it her?’

Leonard nodded. ‘It’s her.’

Porter clenched his fists. ‘I knew it. I knew it,’ he said, more to himself than anyone else. ‘Thanks, Will. I owe you.’

‘That you do. If only my credit was as good with my bank. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.’ He turned and made a beeline for the door, Styles coming through it seconds after Leonard had exited, as if one man had just pulled off the greatest quick-change act ever. He saw the look on Porter’s face as he came closer.

‘Well?’

‘It’s her. Let’s see if Anderson and Whittaker are about. Never hurts to have numbers with a man like Bolton.’

They found Whittaker at his desk, mouth full of Mars bar and a smear of brown below his bottom lip. He crumpled the wrapper and hit the three-pointer in the bin against the wall.

‘Too bloody right I’m in,’ he said after Porter filled him in. ‘Anderson just nipped for a cuppa. I’ll give him a call and see you downstairs in five?’

They talked tactics while they waited for Anderson and Whittaker. They circulated Bolton’s licence plate to all units on duty. They had his home and business addresses to split up and work through. At last, after all the frustrations of the last few days, Porter felt the familiar buzz that only came with the business end of a case, when everything started to converge on one point, one person.

He wasn’t at his home, and the unit that went to the Oyster Bay restaurant reported back that he wasn’t on the premises. Porter hadn’t expected it to be quite as straightforward as the first time, but he was pleasantly surprised when a call came over the radio to say his car had been spotted outside a health club he owned. Porter checked the address. They were a little over ten miles away, and agreed to meet in a pub car park around the corner.