‘If he starts talking about marriage or anything like that, I’m emigrating. I can’t take a world where Dave Rowlands gets married before I do.’

The constable smiled and cupped an area just under her stomach in her hands. ‘I didn’t think you went for the whole marriage and babies thing? That is unless . . .’

Izzy had a small grin on her face as she looked at Jessica, who glared back in a silent but friendly warning. Jessica took another look at the top paper, ignoring the insinuation. ‘I’m going to go talk to this Benjamin Sturgess and see if he’s our man. Keep me up to date if anything happens around here and if that image arrives, send a copy to my phone.’

Rowlands drove out to the address with Jessica in the passenger seat, trying and failing to wind him up. Since his relationship with Chloe had become serious, he seemed utterly unflappable.

Already thinking ahead, Jessica noted the Sturgess house wasn’t very close to the area where Daisy Peters lived. She still had her own theory that the person who stole her car must have been local to know Daisy’s movements.

As they arrived, Jessica saw straight away there was a car parked on Benjamin Sturgess’s driveway. It was similar to the one that had been crashed, relatively new, dark in colour and powerful. Jessica knocked on the front door and rang the doorbell but there was no answer. The main curtains in the front window were open but netting prevented her from seeing much. Despite the car, it didn’t appear as if anyone was in. There was no gate preventing access so both officers walked through to the rear of the property where there was a small unkempt lawn and patchy grass. Jessica tried the side door but it was locked. Peering through the kitchen window revealed nothing except for the fact Mr Sturgess had the usual array of white goods.

The two detectives shrugged at each other. It was mid-afternoon so if the man did have a job, he could be at work, even though most people wouldn’t leave a car on the drive.

Jessica pointed to the neighbouring house. ‘You go knock on that door,’ she said to her colleague. ‘I’ll take the one on the other side. If we don’t get any luck we’ll go over the road. Just ask if they know the guy who lives next door and if they’ve seen him recently.’

Jessica walked to the adjacent house and pressed the doorbell. It sounded a loud old-fashioned ‘ding-dong’ and was soon answered by a woman who looked as if she had long since retired. She was short with grey curly hair and looked quizzically at Jessica. ‘I don’t buy anything,’ she muttered.

She had already started to close the door, so Jessica spoke quickly to say she was a police officer and took out her identification. After closely examining it, the woman introduced herself as Sue.

‘Is this about those people at number thirteen?’ she asked.

‘What people at number thirteen?’

‘I phoned you because of all the people they keep having over.’

Jessica looked at the woman with her eyebrows raised. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Sue leant in. ‘I read about it in one of my magazines. I think they’re sex people.’ She spoke the word ‘sex’ quietly, as if embarrassed, although she was clearly relishing telling the story. Of all the doors she could have knocked on, Jessica realised she had stumbled across the local busybody. She wanted to steer the conversation around to the woman’s next door neighbour but she couldn’t get a word in.

‘They have all these cars parked up and down the road a couple of times a week,’ the woman continued. ‘They park in front of everyone’s house. The other week, someone parked outside mine at ten o’clock at night. I was watching from my top window and this couple got out. You should have seen what she was wearing.’

Against her better judgement, Jessica asked the question she knew she shouldn’t. ‘What was she wearing?’

Sue shook her head in mock indignation. ‘I did phone the police that night so you should know. She had these big boot things on. It was outrageous.’

‘Right, um . . .’

Seemingly oblivious to Jessica’s lack of enthusiasm, Sue was gleefully continuing her tale. ‘She and her husband, well I assume it was her husband, they walked over the road to number thirteen.’ She pointed behind Jessica, who looked around to see Dave crossing the road. ‘Anyway, I stayed up and watched all these couples parking up and they all went to the same house. They didn’t start leaving until one in the morning. Can you believe that?’

Jessica tried to make an interested noise but knew anything she said would be largely irrelevant as Sue kept speaking. ‘It’s been going on for weeks now. All these couples coming and going. It’s not right.’

‘Okay, well, I’ll look into the report but, from what you’ve said, I’m not sure it sounds like any offence has actually been committed.’

‘No offence? What do you mean?’

Jessica couldn’t tell if the woman was actually shocked or feigning it. ‘It does sound like it’s just a couple who have had friends around late at night. As long as they weren’t making a noise or causing a disturbance, I’m not sure there’s an awful lot we can actually do.’

Sue stared at Jessica as if unable to take in what she had been told. ‘Well, I never. And you’re a police officer?’

Jessica couldn’t be bothered explaining the nuances of what her role actually was. She pointed towards Benjamin Sturgess’s house. ‘I was wondering if you know much about your neighbour.’

Sue still seemed annoyed but her eyes lit up at being invited to gossip. ‘Benjamin? Ooh yes, he’s a very nice man. He painted my skirting boards for me.’

Jessica struggled not to laugh because of the obscure nature of the statement. She wondered if she would ever reach an age where painting skirting boards became a concern. ‘Have you seen him recently?’

‘Ooh, I can’t think . . .’ As the woman paused and looked to the skies, Jessica thought it would be her luck if the one thing the local busybody couldn’t remember was the only thing she actually needed to know. Just as Jessica thought she had lost five minutes of her life she would never be able to get back, Sue finally answered. ‘I don’t think I have, come to think of it. I don’t remember seeing him at all in the past week or so.’

‘Do you know if he usually leaves his car at home during the day?’

‘I don’t know. He does some writing but I think he does that from home.’

‘Does he have a wife or a—’

Jessica didn’t finish the sentence before the woman joyously interrupted. ‘He used to. I think they’re divorced, or separated. She doesn’t live there any more.’

‘I don’t suppose you have a contact address or phone number, do you?’ Jessica hadn’t expected anything but, to her surprise, the woman turned.

‘I think I do.’ She walked a few steps to a small desk just inside the front door and rummaged in a drawer, taking out a small hardback book and quickly flicking through the pages. She flipped the book around and handed it to Jessica. ‘Here, it’s Deborah. I think Benjamin gave it to me in case of an emergency.’

Jessica took the book and read the details, which had been written in neat spidery writing that she couldn’t decipher. ‘Can you read it back to me?’ she asked.

Sue recited the address and phone number, which Jessica typed into her own mobile.

After she had finished reading, Sue nodded towards Jessica’s phone. ‘Don’t even get me started on those things. All these kids today, talking on them all the time.’

Jessica wouldn’t have dared to start the woman off again but didn’t have much choice. She started taking small steps backwards but Sue seemed unperturbed.

‘I’m sorry, I really have to go,’ Jessica said as the woman muttered something about ‘not being like this in my day’.

Jessica turned and called across the road to Rowlands. Once she was back in his car, she called the number. The woman who answered confirmed her name was Deborah and that her ex-husband was Benjamin Sturgess, who had once been a teacher that went by the name ‘Ian’. She was at home and said it was fine for them to visit.