In all this, that was the part Imogen had the most trouble understanding. Neither Jane Doe nor Leon Quick would speak. She risked her own life by leaving the hospital to avoid any questioning and Quick ended his for the same reason. Who were these people and how were they connected?

‘Gary said he checked MisPers against her photo; there was no one matching her description reported missing.’

‘How is that possible? Does she not have a mother or father? We assumed she was married, but maybe the ring was something else.’

Adrian leaned closer to Imogen and lowered his voice. ‘Stay at mine tonight? I don’t think either of us want to be alone right now.’

‘You’re not wrong.’

She stayed at his most nights; in fact, she rarely went home. After a couple of months seeing each other in secret, they were on the brink of being in a serious relationship, she could feel it. It was exciting but at the same time, as usual, it came with a whole host of other complications. She hadn’t felt this way about anyone before. It wasn’t the crazy-making irrational lust she usually felt for someone when she thought she was in love with them. It was something much calmer, much more grounded and dependable. Was this the real deal? Did he even feel the same? Adrian was the kind of person who said what was on his mind and she still wasn’t sure how he felt.

Imogen started typing, filling out the fields on the form as succinctly as possible. Before she had joined the police, she didn’t fully understand how different people react under pressure and she had seen all sorts of things before – but this? This was a new one on her. More than anything, she wanted to know what had caused Leon Quick to do that to himself. The worst thing was accepting that she might never find out.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The head office of Corrigan Construction was in Matford Business Park just outside Exeter city centre. The building itself was more substantial than Adrian was expecting. A large red-brick-and-grey structure the length of several houses, with windows stretched across the front so you could see the staff inside at their desks. The lobby was a wide-open space with a high glass ceiling and a reception desk in the centre. The walls were a dark slate grey and the wall facing the entrance had an enormous painting on it, which must have been over twelve foot square.

Adrian stared at the painting as they both approached the desk, a contemporary swirl of reds and browns; even with his non-existent knowledge of art he could tell this was an expensive piece and not just something off the rack. He turned to the young woman behind the counter, who looked up and smiled. The smile dropped when Adrian held up his warrant card.