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But why would James do that? He had a wife and family – more to lose.
Another thought hit Anthony. Was it Rosie? Was she responsible for the mess and the destruction?
Anthony’s thoughts were then dealt another serious blow, when three faces appeared on the TV screen, wanted in connection with the hit and run of David Hunter, and the death of his wife, Ann Marie, in Burley in Wharfedale three months previous.
They had pictures. And he recognised them all: Zoe, James, and himself.
He lowered his head and covered his face with his hands. It could be all over now.
How long did he really have left before the net closed in on him?
Desperate for answers, Anthony suddenly had a light-bulb moment, one that was worth hanging on to.
The DPA safe cyber forum address where they could be contacted if all else failed.
It had to be worth the risk.
Chapter Forty-three
Rosie opened the front door to the sound of the bell and immediately saw red.
“Brought the cuffs, have you?” She stretched out her arms and held out her hands. “Ready to cart me away?”
Both officers pulled out warrant cards. One was very smartly dressed in a jacket, shirt and tie, trousers, and for some bizarre reason a hat with a hole in it. The other wore a bomber jacket and jeans.
“Mrs Henshaw.” Gardener held up his card.
“This is police harassment.” Rosie walked off, leaving the door open, as she had earlier in the day for the other two.
Gardener and Reilly followed. Rosie ended up in the kitchen, taking a seat at the table.
She immediately jumped up, wandered over and removed lemonade from the fridge, took a glass from the cupboard above her head and poured one out.
“Would you like one?”
“Please,” said both officers in unison.
When all three were seated, Rosie went on the attack again. “I’m really sick of this. I’m not the criminal here, but you lot are treating me like one. I haven’t done anything and you’re just hounding me. I’m just pleased my children are having a stay over. Why aren’t you out there catching real criminals – like my husband?”
“It’s your husband we’ve come to talk to you about, Mrs Henshaw,” said Gardener. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Weeks ago, when he left here for a meeting in Brussels.”
“A meeting that he never made.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“And you haven’t heard from him in that time?”
Rosie sighed, drinking lemonade.
“No. He sent one or two emails at first. Then they dried up and I heard sod all.”
“And you didn’t think that odd?” asked Reilly.
“Of course it was bloody odd, but what could I do about it? I made calls and sent emails but they all went unanswered. Next thing I knew I had Michael Foreman ringing me up, asking for James. Then Anthony Palmer.”
“You’ve had no contact with Zoe Harrison?”
