‘DI Brennan.’

DCI Ben Fenwick. His superior officer. ‘Sir,’ said Phil.

‘On my way over now. Just wanted a quick chat beforehand. ’The voice strong and authoritative, equally at home in front of the cameras at a news conference or telling a joke to an appreciative audience in an exclusive golf clubhouse.

‘Good, sir. Let me tell you what we’ve found.’ Phil gave him the details, aware all the time of the missing baby, the clock still ticking inside him. He was pleased the rubberneckers on the bridge couldn’t hear him. He hoped there were no lip-readers in the crowd. Hid his mouth just in case.

‘Oh God,’ said Ben Fenwick, then offered to deal with the media as Phil knew he would. It wasn’t just that he never missed an opportunity to get his face on TV; he had so many media contacts he ensured the story would be presented in a way that would benefit the investigation.

‘Sounds to me like we’ve got a serial. What do you think? Am I right?’ Fenwick’s voice was tight, grim.

‘Well, we’ve still got the party aspect to pursue, the boyfriend to question . . .’

‘Gut feeling?’

‘Yeah. A serial and a baby kidnapper.’

‘Wonderful. Bad to worse.’ He sighed. It came down the phone as a ragged electronic bark. ‘I mean, a serial killer. In Colchester. These things just don’t happen. Not here.’

‘That has been mentioned, sir. A few times. I’m sure they said something similar up the road in Ipswich a couple of years ago.’

A serial killer had targeted prostitutes in the red-light area of the Suffolk town. He had been caught, but not before he had murdered five women.

Another sigh. ‘True. But why? And why here?’

‘I’m sure they said that too.’

‘Quite. Look. This is a priority case. God knows how long we’ve got to catch this bastard and get that baby, but we’ve got to step up.You’re going to need a bit of help.’

‘How d’you mean, sir?’

‘Different perspective, that kind of thing. Psychological input. Profile.’

‘I thought you didn’t go for that sort of thing.’

‘I don’t. Not personally. But the Detective Super’s been on the phone from Chelmsford. Thinks it would be helpful. Sanctioned the money too. So there we are. Another weapon in the arsenal and all that.’

‘Who did you have in mind?’ A shiver ran through Phil, as if he had just plugged his fingers into a wall socket. He had an idea of what Fenwick was about to say next. Hoped he was wrong.

‘Someone with a bit of specialist knowledge, Phil. And I know you’ve worked with her before.’

Her. Phil knew exactly who he was talking about. His chest tightened again, but this wasn’t a panic attack. Not exactly.

‘Marina Esposito,’ said Fenwick. ‘Remember her?’

Of course Phil remembered her.

‘I know it all ended rather unfortunately last time—’ Fenwick didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Phil gave a bitter laugh. ‘Bit of an understatement.’

‘Yes,’ said Fenwick, undaunted. ‘But by all accounts a cracking forensic psychologist, don’t you think? Or at least as far as they go. And, you know, what happened aside, she got us a result.’

‘She did,’ said Phil. ‘She was good.’ And an even better lover, he thought.

He felt his chest tightening again at his own words, tried to ignore it. He sighed. He remembered the case well. How could he not?

Gemma Hardy was in her mid-twenties, a dentist’s receptionist who lived in a shared flat in the Dutch Quarter. She had friends and a regular boyfriend. Life was good for Gemma Hardy, she was happy. But that was all about to change. Because Gemma had also attracted a stalker.

At first it was just texts, then letters. Love letters, dark and twisted, the writer telling her that she was the only girl, his true love.That he would kill anyone who got in their way.That he would kill her rather than let her go with someone else.

Scared, she contacted the police. Phil was handed the case. He and his team went through Gemma’s life intimately. They found no one, nothing that could possibly point to the perpetrator. They arranged for her flat to be watched. Saw no one apart from her friends and boyfriend. They were getting nowhere, she was still terrified. Then someone suggested bringing in a psychologist.

Marina Esposito, a lecturer in psychology at nearby Essex University, was called in to consult. She specialised in deviant sexuality. The case was tailor-made for her. Along with Phil she examined every aspect of Gemma’s life, and they found their stalker: Martin Fletcher. Her flatmate’s boyfriend. He was arrested and confessed.

And that should have been the end of it. But it wasn’t. Not for Marina.

‘I doubt she’d do it, to tell you the truth, sir.’

‘I thought a bit of persuading, perhaps.’ Fenwick sounded surprised.

Phil couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Persuading? Last time she worked with us she nearly died. Severed all links.You sure you want her?’

‘Super mentioned her personally. Good a place as any to start with. And if ever a case was right up her alley it’s this one.’ Fenwick’s voice changed gear then, moved from politician to friend, counsellor. Phil didn’t trust him when he did that. ‘Leave it to me, Phil. I’ll talk to her, see what I can do.’

Phil closed his eyes. Marina was there. He shook his head. Marina was always there. He sighed. Fenwick was right. Whatever else had happened, she was the best. And he needed the best on this case. ‘Well, good luck with that.’

‘Thank you.’ Phil couldn’t tell if Fenwick was being sarcastic or not.

There was a silence on the other end of the line. Then: ‘Are you sure you can handle this, Phil?’

Phil was jolted back. ‘Don’t see why not. I’ve been CIO on high-profile cases before.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Fenwick’s voice was quiet. Solicitous.

Phil couldn’t speak for a few seconds as he absorbed the impact of Fenwick’s words. He knows.The bastard knows.

His heart started to beat faster again. It’s the case, he told himself, the baby, the seconds ticking away. That’s all it is, not . . . ‘Yes, sir, I can handle it.’

‘Good. Then I’ll talk to her. Because we’re going to need all the help we can get on this one. There’s a budget for this; it’s been upgraded as high priority so we don’t need to worry about that aspect. Extra manpower too. Personpower I should say. Let us not speak the language of dinosaurs in this department.’ He gave a snort.

Phil wasn’t listening. He had butterflies in his stomach.

‘Right. Well, we’d better get going. The clock’s ticking and all that. ’

‘Right you are, sir.’

Phil broke the connection. Stood staring at the phone, stunned at Fenwick’s words. But he didn’t have time to think about them now. He had another call to make.

Somehow it didn’t seem to matter too much.

Clayton emerged from the block of flats, joined him.

‘Ready, boss?’

‘Nearly,’ said Phil. He looked at Clayton, looked at his handset. Do it now. Get it over with.

‘Just got a call to make. Won’t be a moment.’

He walked away for privacy, dialled the number. Hoped Clayton was out of earshot.

It wasn’t good for morale to hear your boss get told off by his mum.

7

He had done it. Actually done it. Gone out and got her a baby, just like she had asked, just like he had promised to. Hester couldn’t believe it.

But she looked down at the baby and frowned. It wasn’t right. Not right at all.

She knew what babies looked like. Especially newborn ones. She’d seen them on TV. They were always happy and smiling, with hair. This one wasn’t. Small, wrinkled, shrivelled and pinky blue. More like Yoda than a baby. And it didn’t smile. Just twisted its face up and made a gurgling, wailing noise, like it was being tortured underwater.

But it was a baby, so Hester would have to make the best of it. A baby of her own. And when you had a baby, you had to clothe it and feed it and make it grow. She knew that.