“Call the station, and get them to run the address,” DS Clarke instructed Rebecca, his eyes firmly on the building Suzanne Walker was snooping around. They had followed her, parking in a driveway a couple of houses to the left. He hoped that the owner wouldn’t come home anytime soon and give them away.
“Yes, it’s Grove Road, number twenty-six,” Rebecca said into the phone. She, too, kept her eyes on Suzanne. “Psst, she’s moving.”
Clarke ducked down farther in the passenger seat and gestured at Rebecca to pass him the phone. “She’s on the move.”
Rebecca handed it over and started the car. The phone screen was smeared with the make-up from her cheek. He wiped it with his thumb and started talking.
“DS Clarke here, have you got the address?”
“Yes, sir,” came Jonesy’s voice. “It’s a privately rented property, owned by Lockley Properties.”
“Have you got the name of the current tenant?”
“One sec.”
He drummed his fingers on his leg as he watched Suzanne get in her car and pull away. Wherever she was headed, she was going in a hurry. “Follow her,” he said to Rebecca. “But not too closely, as we don’t want her catching on.”
“Okay,” came Jonesy’s voice. “Currently rented to a Rhys Dannot, twenty years old.”
“Great, thanks.” He hung up the phone and turned to Rebecca. “Rhys Dannot — why do I know that name?”
“Hmm, Dannot … Dannot …” Rebecca tapped her fingers on the wheel as she followed Suzanne over the roundabout towards the A11. “Ah! Nancy referred to the “Dannot brothers on the TV Today interview, an old case of Suzanne’s. Both boys tried to commit suicide, and one of them was successful.”
“That’s it,” said Clarke. “So, why would Suzanne be going to that address? By all accounts she hadn’t worked with the surviving Dannot brother since the tragedy. And now he’s over eighteen, anyway.”
“You were right, Sarge,” Rebecca said, shaking her head in resigned agreement. “She’s up to something.”
Twenty minutes later, they had turned onto a country lane — at a safe distance behind Suzanne’s car. If they’d carried on down the A11 further, they’d have arrived at the exit to Center Parcs. He knew it well — he and Emily had spent the odd long weekend there in their cosy log cabins, going out for forest walks, then snuggling up together by the fire. They’d taken Kacey when she was one year old, and she’d loved it, splashing in the baby pool and playing in the ball pits. He loved that it was in the middle of Thetford Forest, so you were surrounded by nature on all sides.
Now, as they drove along behind Suzanne, he spotted the trees and got his bearings. Suzanne was leading them straight into Thetford Forest, via some hidden back route. A chill fluttered over him. Where was she taking them? Did she know they were following her?
They hung back as much as they could. After a few minutes of bumping over rabbit holes and raised tree trunks, they spotted her car again, except now it was parked, and she wasn’t in it.
“Pull over, quickly.”
Rebecca did as instructed, anxiety brewing on her face. “I don’t like this, Sarge. What’s she doing out in the bloody forest?”
“Only one way to find out.” Clarke opened the car door and stepped out, holding his finger to his lips. Rebecca followed, narrowly avoiding a patch of nettles.
They crept as quickly as they could down the muddy path. Clarke held a hand up to stop Rebecca as he caught sight of Suzanne. She’d just turned a corner by a huge tree that must have been at least eighty years old and entered an open green space. He hung back, positioning himself behind the trunk of the tree, Rebecca standing a metre or so behind. The manicured clearing felt unnatural in the crowded forest. A massive rosebush marked the middle of the space. A few early buds were beginning to blossom. It took a moment before Clarke’s eyes fell on the large, navy blue lump on the ground next to the rose bush.
A sleeping bag. Poking out the top was a mess of dark hair and the face of a teenage girl.
Clarke’s heart jumped out of his chest.
She’d been here all along. Teigan.