“No. We might have to drive somewhere. Look—spending half an hour at home won’t hold up the case. Go and settle this. I’ll take you in my car and you can get it over with.”

“Okay. As long as you stay with me while I open that damn box.

I might need the voice of reason to keep me sane.”

“Hold your hand, more like. Okay, we’ll do this together. You can open Pandora’s Box and air your skeletons—then it’s straight back to the case. Alright?”

He nodded. Until he’d seen for himself what the box contained, he’d be unable to concentrate anyway.

“What I can’t understand …” he began, as Ruth pulled up outside his home. “… is why my dad never said anything. And who was this other bloody woman anyway?”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright doing this? If it’s going to bother you we could leave it.”

“See, even you’re getting cold feet now! But yep—I have to do this, like you say, get it over with.”

“Your dad will have had his reasons for keeping quiet, guilt probably. He’ll have discussed it with your mum when you were tiny, and then as you grew up, it’ll have been buried deep. That’s what families do.”

* * *

Calladine unlocked his front door and made straight for the clock. He took the key from his coat pocket, moved the clock away from the wall and unlocked the door at the back of the casing.

“Here we are then—the complete, hitherto unknown, history of Tom Calladine—the man who wasn’t who he thought he was.”

“Of course you know who you are, Tom. You’re being melodramatic now. You’re who you’ve always been—a good man, a damn good copper and a loving son.”

The box was a biscuit tin that looked as if it dated back to the fifties. He carried it through to the kitchen table and prised it open.

There were a couple of letters inside, a small number of photos and the all-important birth certificate.

“I was registered as Thomas Frank Calladine—Frank after my father. But they weren’t married, so how come?”

“Because your dad will have gone with her to register your birth.

Who was she, then? What’s her name?”

He stared at the document—at a name he’d never before seen or heard of.

“Eve Walker. Mean anything?”

“Not off the top of my head.”

“I don’t understand how you never saw this before. You need your birth certificate for all sorts of things. What about when you needed a passport?” Ruth asked.

“Easy. My mum saw to all that. We went to Majorca when I was twelve and she got everything organised. When I left home I only ever had the cut-down version of the certificate, and that doesn’t have parents’ names on it.”

Ruth picked up one of the photos. It showed a young man, not unlike the inspector, and a pretty blonde woman. They were on a beach somewhere. He had his trousers rolled up and she was holding her shoes in her hand. They looked happy, carefree.

“She could still be alive, you know. Have you thought of that?”

“Alive and local. Who knows, she could have watched me grow up, been someone I saw every day, and I just wouldn’t have known.”

“And, of course, there is something else.” Ruth raised her eyebrows, giving him time to think. “Siblings. You could have brothers and sisters; something else you just don’t know.”

He sighed and stuffed his hands in his overcoat pockets. He didn’t have time to think about all this right now. It was a big deal, and it would need some pondering. He took the photo from Ruth and studied it for a moment. What had gone on between his father and Freda in those distant days when he’d brought him home? How had he explained what had happened and what he’d done? How had she taken to him—a newborn infant? In the letter she’d said she’d loved him instantly, but she must have been angry, jealous even.

One thing was certain—Freda Calladine must have loved his father very much, and because of that she’d been prepared to love Tom too.

“This whole mess does have its upside, Ruth.” He broke into a sudden grin. “It means Ray Fallon is no longer my cousin.”

“It means he never was—so make sure you tell the right people at work and get your career back on track.”

This cheered him up no end, and he whistled his way through repacking the tin box. “Right, Ruth!” His sergeant was now idly wondering around the house inspecting the mess Lydia had left behind.

“She’s got some cheek, that bimbo. She’s left make-up all over your kitchen worktops and the dishes are still clogging up the sink.

Look at the clothes strewn all over the sitting room—she obviously couldn’t decide what to wear today. Where’s she gone anyway? Did she tell you she was going out?”

“I’m not her keeper, Ruth. Lydia can do as she pleases.” He closed the tin box. “Will you look after this for me? You can see what things are like here, and I don’t want to risk Zoe finding all this until I’m ready to tell her.”

“Okay. I’ll put it in the boot of my car, and you can put the kettle on. If you can find it.”

His mobile rang.

“Sir! Good news.” It was Rocco. “Patsy Lumis has been found.

She’s in the general, in a coma.”

A coma—and that was good news? “Where was she found?”

“On the roadside. The one that leads up to the garden centre from the bypass.”

“Have you got forensics down there?”

“Yes. Julian’s lot should be crawling all over it by now.”

“Okay. Ruth and I will get down there and talk to the doctors. I’ll be back in later with an update.” He called out to Ruth.

“No time for tea—Patsy’s in the general. She’s been found.”

They had no idea how bad this might be. All they knew was that she was still alive. But what had she been put through?

Patsy Lumis was in intensive care and, according to the doctor, in a bad way.

“Her injuries are minor; nothing more than a few cuts and scratches. But she’s had a major epileptic seizure, and what’s really worrying is the length of time it may have lasted before she was found. We have no way of knowing, but what we do know is that she was both cyanosed and tachycardic when she was brought in—lack of oxygen and an erratic heartbeat. I can’t say when she’ll come round. I can’t say whether she’ll remember very much either.

I’m afraid we just have to wait and see.”

“Does she have any other injuries apart from the superficial ones? Her teeth, for example, are they intact?”

“Yes, everything is quite normal. It’s as I said; she has suffered mild abrasions from what seems to be branches and twigs.”

“What about toxicology? Has she been given anything?”

The doctor paused and studied the notes at the foot of her bed.

“Nothing obvious, but some of them don’t show up for a few hours

—the date rape drug for example. And there is evidence of sexual activity. She’s bruised, as if the experience was forced and very rough. If I had to give an opinion, then I’d say she’d been raped.”

Raped, but otherwise okay. It was something—bad enough, but nonetheless, in comparison to what had happened to the others, she’d had a narrow escape.

“What was she wearing?”

“The forensic people took her clothing away. But as I recall she was wearing a tracksuit—nothing else.”

“I see the name you’ve put on the notes is ‘Vida,’” Ruth interjected, looking first at the doctor and then at Calladine. “Why is that?”

“We had no idea who she was when she arrived, and it was the name embroidered on the tracksuit top.”

“We need to speak to Julian and look at that tracksuit,” Calladine decided. “If anything changes, then ring me straight away.” He handed the doctor one of his cards.

“We’ll find Julian and then we’ll go look at where she was found.”

Chapter 21

“It’s a standard issue—on sale at Leesdon Gym with the option to have your name, initials, or whatever embroidered on the top. And before you ask, I haven’t been stepping on your toes—I was a member myself briefly, so that’s how I know.”