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here was to interview her formally, scare her. Although she wasn’t officially a suspect. This was a missing person case. They didn’t even have a crime, so she couldn’t be a suspect. Damn protocol.
    He looked up and met her gaze. “Fancy a trip out?”

Chapter Ten
    Rushbrook Road led into Trinity Mead, a nearly new estate with a variety of different sizes and styles of affordable modern homes. He passed the older, established houses and pulled in halfway down at one of the detached brick-built new homes. As they walked down the short pathway to the entrance he could see the silhouette of a woman, sat in the single armchair beside the window. Just as they reached the door she hauled herself up.
    The clunk of a bolt and rattle of a chain reminded Jackman that darkness was closing in. The door eventually opened to reveal a woman with an oval, made-up face and smooth, cropped dark hair in black trousers and a cream silky top. Her feet were clad with gold sandals.
    “Jenny Walters?” Davies held up her badge. “I’m DS Davies and this is DI Jackman.”
    “Who is it, honey?” The gravelly voice came from above. Jenny cast her eyes to the ceiling. “Nothing. Go back to sleep. I’ll be up in a bit.”
    She turned back to Jackman, “You’d better come in.”
    They wandered a few steps down a dimly-lit hallway and entered the front room. Jenny followed them through and switched on the light.
    The sudden illumination revealed a neat room painted pale green and filled with a cream sofa against one wall, a matching single armchair beneath the window and an oak dresser littered with silver framed photos on the far wall. Jenny gesticulated for them to sit and crossed to the single armchair. The fact that they weren’t offered refreshments wasn’t lost on Jackman.
    “Mrs Walters, can you tell me where you were last night?” he asked.
    She took a deep breath. In the soft hallway lighting she could have been mistaken for a woman in her thirties, but under the glaring spotlights the laughter lines around her eyes and deep grooves that edged her cheeks added another ten years at least. “Here for most of the evening. Had to pop out for a bit, but I think you already know that.”
    “Why was that?”
    She closed her eyes momentarily before she met his gaze. “Look I know what this is about,” she said. “Tom phoned me.”
    Back at the station, Keane had married up the grainy CCTV footage of Tom leaving the pub with the private camera footage from Grove House car park on Greenhill Street which showed Tom arrive there a couple of minutes later. Tom had loitered for a bit by the entrance until a green Volvo had pulled in, that they later traced to Jenny Walters. They watched him climb into the car. A few minutes later he emerged with some paperwork which he’d folded and tucked into his pocket before heading back to the pub.
    “Why don’t you talk us through it?” he asked.
    Jenny sighed. “It’s awkward.”
    “I know,” Jackman said, “Tom’s already spoken to us.”
    “Then you’ll know what it’s about. I don’t want to get involved.”
    Jackman pushed his lips together. He really couldn’t deal with dramatics at this time of night. “We are investigating the case of a missing woman. You were spotted in the vicinity where she was last seen. Why did you drive out to Stratford centre to meet Tom last night?”
    A short silence followed. Just as Jackman was going to suggest they continue the conversation at the station, Jenny spoke up. “I’m an agent for a private abortion clinic. Tom contacted me a couple of weeks ago.”
    “How did he find out about you?”
    She lifted a manicured nail and scratched the side of her neck. “He found us on the internet. We’re based on the edge of Warwickshire and offer a discreet, confidential service. I deal with all potential new clients. We’ve chatted a few times over the past two weeks, discussed his options.”
    “And why did he contact you?”
    “His