Private London (Private 4)

He typed on his keyboard and bounced the image across to Sci in the Los Angeles headquarters.

Within minutes, a message pinged back across the Atlantic and Adrian opened the attachment. Our American associate had run the image through a powerful image-enhancement system. The kind of technology that analyses space-telescope imagery of landscapes on Mars.

What we had was the corner and a fold or two of a blanket. Dark brown and red, in a chequered or tartan pattern. One edge of the blanket was folded across but there was part of a label visible, with the letters Q and U on it.

‘Doesn’t tell us much, I’m afraid, Dan,’ said Adrian apologetically.

See, Adrian was good with the detail. He hadn’t even taken the photograph and yet he remembered the smallest discrepancy between the two images. But me? I knew a goddamned clue when I saw one!

Chapter 78

‘SHIT!’

DI Kirsty Webb kicked the tyre of her car. But it did little to ease her frustration.

She had thought she’d made a breakthrough in the case but now that she had arrived in Chesham it seemed extremely probable that she was looking at another dead end.

Literally.

The house she had come to had had a sizeable chunk blown out of it. Debris strewn all around. The windows smashed in the small station across the road from it.

She checked the address on the open page of her notebook as she walked up to the Police – Do Not Cross line. No mistake about it. It was the last known address of Adriana Kisslinger.

She ducked under the tape and flashed a quick, humourless smile to the young uniformed officer who approached her. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, flashing her warrant card. ‘DI Webb. So, what have we got?’

‘There’s been an accident.’

He would have said more but DI James appeared in the doorway. ‘Inspector Webb,’ she said, a little puzzled to see her.

‘Natalie.’

‘Have there been some developments? On the Colin Harris case? Is that why you’re here?’

‘It looks that way,’ said Kirsty.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Whatever this was … I’m guessing it wasn’t an accident,’ Kirsty gestured at the house.

‘We were working on the assumption that it was.’

DI Natalie James led Kirsty through the house into a kitchen, the far wall of which was missing. A third of the ceiling was gone, with beams and plaster hanging down and debris strewn across the floor.

Kirsty looked up a little suspiciously. ‘Is it safe?’

The Buckinghamshire DI smiled reassuringly. ‘Come through.’

Kirsty followed her through what would have been a back door to the garden patio off the kitchen. A brick wall had been blown into the next-door neighbour’s garden, with metal wreckage strewn around both. A number of white-suited SOCO officers were working the garden.

‘They’re mainly looking for the rest of his body,’ she explained.

‘Who was it?’

‘Local optician. Peter Chappel. Wasn’t he who you were here to see?’ she asked, puzzled.

Kirsty shook her head. ‘This was the last address I could find for my Jane Doe discovered on Friday night.’

‘With the finger missing?’