Alec nodded. He hadn’t been expecting anything else but he thought he ought to ask. ‘But, the publicity,’ he said, ‘you can handle that?’

‘That I can do,’ Fine agreed. ‘We’ll get the local media involved and Kinnear’s picture out there with a statement to the effect that he’s wanted for the attack on you and an attempted break-in at the house of a recently deceased minor celebrity.’

‘Minor celebrity?’ Alec laughed. ‘Rupe would have enjoyed that.’

‘Well, he almost was,’ Fine said. ‘We’ll just give it a little spin. It shouldn’t be difficult, not with the local writer angle and the circumstances in which he was found. It might take a day or so to build, but I reckon we can get his picture and a brief statement in tomorrow’s papers. That would be a start.’

‘Good,’ Alec told him. ‘Then the next move will be up to Kinnear.’

‘There’s something else,’ Naomi said. ‘Probably unrelated, but Patrick’s befriended a young lad by the name of Danny Fielding.’

‘At the farm back of Fallowfields,’ Alec elucidated.

‘His mother went missing about the time of Rupert’s death. Danny is convinced it wasn’t as simple as her just leaving home. She’s not been in touch and no one seems to have seen her.’

‘And you want me to see if there’s any previous?’

‘Please,’ Naomi said. ‘It occurred to me there might be a history. I wondered if you could check out the local women’s refuges.’

‘I could get that done,’ Fine said, though he sounded a little wary. ‘You realize, though, that I couldn’t tell you anything. If she’s there it’s because she’s in need of protection. It’d be up to her if she wanted to make contact with her son.’

Naomi nodded. ‘I think it would be something for Danny to know that she was still alive,’ she said. ‘He’s convinced she would have been in touch if she’d been able.’

‘So, won’t knowing that she hasn’t been be harder still on the lad?’

‘I don’t know,’ Naomi told him. ‘But we promised to try and find out.’

Fine considered for a moment then pushed his chair out from behind the desk. ‘Give me a minute,’ he said.

It was in fact almost ten before he came back. He dropped a folder on the table. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘You know I can’t go into detail, but you were right. There is history. A half dozen calls in the past three years. Nothing before,’ he sighed. ‘It’s become more common round here of late to be called to domestics. Pressures on farmers have never been greater and tempers boil over. From my reading of the reports though, this was a case of six of one and half a dozen of the other. Sharon Fielding has a temper and so does her old man. She walloped him with a cast iron pan last year. Lucky not to crack his skull. Neither of them have ever pressed charges.’

‘I see,’ Naomi said. ‘So it could be that there was violence this time.’

‘You’re afraid Danny Fielding could be right?’

She nodded.

‘OK, look, I’ll do a ring round. I’m assuming they’ve called the hospitals and the usual stuff?’

‘You know, I’m not sure they have,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Patrick said that Danny had phoned family and friends, but he’s just a kid.’

‘Well, we can get on to that,’ Alec said.

‘They might not let on she’s there, you know. Depends if she’s told them not to,’ Fine reminded him. ‘And if she was unconscious and had identification then the family would have been informed. You can give a description, of course, see if they have any bodies they don’t have a name for. I’ll do the mortuary,’ he added. ‘Be easier for me.’

‘Thanks,’ Naomi said though she suddenly felt terribly depressed. What if Sharon Fielding did turn up dead or badly injured?

She sighed. Well, she supposed, at least then Danny would know he hadn’t been abandoned. It was, she thought, a toss-up which outcome would be worse for the boy.

Danny Fielding had agreed to come to Fallowfields that morning. Patrick had thought it might be easier if only he and his dad were there, and Napoleon, of course, Naomi having left him behind. Napoleon was a great ice-breaker and Patrick was relying on him to ease the way.

Patrick met Danny in the meadow.

‘Does your dad know you’re here?’

Danny shrugged. ‘He’s out,’ he said. ‘Don’t know when he’ll be back.’ He had made Napoleon’s acquaintance when he talked to Patrick that night he had texted him, and he renewed the friendship now, patting the dog’s back and stroking his ears.

Patrick led him through the garden and into the house, entering through the kitchen door. ‘You want something to drink?’

‘You got coke?’

Patrick got a couple of cans from the fridge. ‘Here.’

‘Thanks.’

Danny stood just inside the kitchen door as though ready to make his escape. He allowed his gaze to travel around the room and Patrick noted as it fell on the blue bowl filled with eggs, the flowers Naomi had cut in the garden and the various gadgets Rupert had filled his kitchen with.

‘Did you make the list?’

Danny nodded and finally left the kitchen door. He took a couple of sheets of lined, crumpled paper from the back pocket of his jeans and sat down at the table. ‘This is everyone I could think of. I’ve ticked the ones I tried already.’

‘Did you try the hospitals?’ Harry asked. They both jumped, neither having heard him come in from the hall. Danny got to his feet as though ready to run away. ‘Don’t mind me,’ Harry told him, ‘I’ve just brought you these.’ He laid on the table a telephone directory and the Yellow Pages and the cordless phone.

‘Thanks, Dad.’

Harry nodded. ‘I’ll just make myself some coffee.’

Danny watched him warily and Patrick found himself observing as though through Danny’s eyes. He was so used to his father that he rarely noticed that he looked older than most parents, largely due to the fact that his hair was already grey and a little thin. He wore it cropped short, despising anything resembling a comb over. Harry’s eyes were grey too and his skin a little wrinkled at the corners. Patrick liked his father’s eyes. He was, lately, a little fatter round the middle than he really ought to be but, again, Patrick rarely noted that either. Patrick himself, slim and dark haired, olive skinned, resembled his mother, though his eyes, an almost navy blue, were inherited from Mari, Harry’s mother and, so he had been told, were like those of Harry’s long dead sister.

Danny examined Harry and Patrick knew he was comparing him to his own father. From what Patrick had seen so far that would not be an easy thing to do, though for that matter, it wasn’t easy to compare Harry to any father he could think of. Harry was, well, Harry. He found himself thinking about his stepfather. A tall, strong, fit outdoorsman with red hair and a beard to match and again wondered what on earth had possessed his parents to get married.

‘You can tell my dad anything,’ Patrick found himself saying. ‘He just wants to help, too.’

For a moment, Danny turned his gaze on Patrick and Patrick got the impression that he had crossed some line, made some incomprehensible statement. He shrugged, muttered something that Patrick didn’t catch but which he guessed expressed disbelief.

Patrick pulled the list towards him and began to read.

At Harry’s suggestion they worked back through the list from the beginning, starting with those numbers Danny had already tried – his mother’s sister, a cousin and a maternal grandfather that he never saw.

There were a few friends listed, some without numbers. It was clear that Danny had just written down anyone with a connection to his mother, however tenuous.

Harry took over. He sat down at the table and examined the list. ‘We should try hospitals,’ he said. ‘You never know she might have been in an accident and not had anything with her to say who she was.’

‘You mean like, she might have lost her memory?’ Danny sounded hopeful.