Page 81

James glanced at his dad. He caught his eye.

See, he is weird.

His dad gave a little shake of his head.

‘Another glass of wine?’ he said.

‘Are you having one?’ Best replied.

‘No. James and I went for a walk and ended up in the Feathered Egg, so I think I’ll have a cup of tea for now.’

‘I’ll join you,’ Best said. ‘Tea would be wonderful.’

‘James?’ his dad said. ‘You want tea?’

James nodded. ‘I’ll make it. Milk and sugar, Mr Best?’

‘Milk. No sugar, thank you.’

James walked towards the kitchen. When he reached the door he glanced back into the room. Best was watching him, a wistful, almost longing expression on his face.

He didn’t care what his dad said. Lonely or not, Best was weird.

Eight Years Earlier: Thursday, 1 July 2010

1

Detective Inspector Wynne did not drink much. She was aware of the cliché of the troubled, alcoholic detective, and she was also aware that, like most clichés, it was a cliché because it was, in part, true. She’d known plenty of detectives who had no problem with alcohol, but also she’d known plenty that did, and she had no intention of following in their footsteps.

Still, she could see why you would. Sometimes it would make life easier.

Make it easier to forget the girl who was still missing. Anna Crowne, five years old, taken from outside her school. Gone. Her parents were distraught, obviously, but Wynne had no answers. They had no idea where the girl was. It reminded her of the last time this had happened.

It wasn’t the only thing that day that reminded her of Maggie. A letter had come that morning, posted the day before in Wigan.

DEAR DETECTIVE INSPECTOR WYNNE:

JUST ABOUT FOUR YEARS NOW. I MEANT TO POST THIS NEARER THE ANNIVERSARY, BUT I DECIDED THERE WAS A MORE IMPORTANT DAY FOR ME TO RECOGNIZE. THE FIRST OF JULY – THE DAY YOU WILL RECEIVE THIS – IS A BIG DAY FOR ME. FOR US.

I SEE YOU HAVE ANOTHER MISSING PERSON ON YOUR BEAT. GETTING A LITTLE CARELESS, AREN’T YOU?

ANYWAY, HERE’S TO ANOTHER YEAR! I’LL RAISE A GLASS TONIGHT.

YOURS SINCERELY,

???

It was the fourth letter. There had been one every year, all posted from different locations, except for the third year. Wynne didn’t know why the kidnapper had missed a year. She did know there was no forensic evidence on any of them.

And she knew she hated them. Hated the prim little colon after her name. Hated the ‘here’s to another year’. Hated the formal ‘yours sincerely’ and hated the stupid question marks.

Most of all she hated the feeling of powerlessness. She was losing this game and there was nothing she could do about it.

And what did he mean, the first of July was an important day? For us? Who was us? Maggie?

She was being toyed with, and she hated it.

Then she saw him. The one person guaranteed to make her day worse.