“No further forward on Karen, and now this.”

Reg Makepeace’s fist hit the desk with a dull thud.

“Missing a week. No sign. Nothing. Not a whisper. Vanished by the towpath just like Karen. Worked at Riddles, just like Karen.”

On the other side of the desk, Dave Wilson watched his guv’nor with a mixture of loyalty and pity. Makepeace was being leaned on by the top brass, savaged by the press, and haunted by photographs of smiling young women whose families wanted answers he didn’t have.

“And the girl had a connection to Rod Beckinsale,” Wilson reminded him gently.

“Don’t remind me, Dave.” Reg scrubbed a hand over his face. “Smoke?”

Wilson offered the packet. Makepeace accepted the cigarette, tu...

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