'There was another boy in the computer studies group older than Wayne, who befriended him and eventually persuaded his parents to apply to foster him.'

'Mr & Mrs Smith?'

Custer nodded and another question-mark disappeared from Fenwick's mind.

'Yes. They weren't on any approved list but the father was a local civil servant of some sort and his wife had been a nurse. They were allowed to foster Wayne for a trial period, then it was extended. I was delighted for the boy.'

Fenwick called Knotty and told him to find Smith senior's employer but drove back to the station dissatisfied. His a.s.sumptions were being confirmed but he'd expected a bigger breakthrough. Knotty was waiting for him with equal disappointment.

'There's no trace of Smith senior or his wife since they moved away from Cressage. According to the land registry they still own a house there but it's rented out. I've been on to the letting agents and they've confirmed that it was put on their books eight years ago.'

'By the father?'

'I didn't ask. I a.s.sume so.'

'Never a.s.sume. Call them back and confirm the exact details. What about Smith's employer?'

'He worked in the County Surveyor's department for twenty-three years before resigning ten years ago and I did manage to find out details of the account they paid his salary into. The building society might have an address.' He looked up expectantly but Fenwick just nodded as if that was routine. For Knotty it had been close to brilliance.

'Why did he resign?'

'No idea. I mean, I didn't ask, sir. I'll get right onto it.' Knotty was beginning to realise that Fenwick didn't believe in loose ends because they were what tripped you up.

'See that you do.' Fenwick shook his head at the constable's retreating back and went in search of a map to help him find his way to the Smiths' last known address.

The journey was a fruitless one. Janine Grey, the current tenant, explained that she and her husband knew nothing about the owners and had never met them. Fenwick wasn't invited inside and reference to an investigation into serious crimes failed to win her cooperation. Frustrated, he turned the car around and headed back to Telford, feeling foolish for having made the journey instead of spending his time in meaningful strategy conferences with senior officers in London. It was what MacIntyre would expect and he was out of line. But instead of returning to the station he contacted Knotty on his radio, found out the address of the building society and drove there himself, propelled by a desire for action, not thought. Thinking was getting him nowhere.

The Coalbrook and Watersmere Building Society had resisted demutualisation, preferring to remain a service for its members and support to the local community. It had three branches and a very loyal customer base.

Fenwick was learning all this and more as he listened to the Chief Executive explain, at length, why he wasn't going to reveal any of his customers' private financial information to the police without proper authority. Even the words rape and serial murder failed to have any effect and Fenwick left after a fruitless ten minutes just as the branch was closing for the day.

He stalked off to find the car, oblivious to his surroundings, so he didn't notice a rather breathless woman trotting alongside him for some time. When he did, he stopped abruptly and so did she.

'Can I help you?'

The woman had been serving behind the counter in the Society when he'd entered and announced himself. He hadn't paid her much attention, noting only that she was wearing a twinset like one he'd bought his mother as a Christmas present. She looked over her shoulder furtively then beckoned him a little closer.

'I may be able to help you,' she said in a stage whisper, 'but not here. There's a tea shop over by the traffic lights, the Black Kettle. I'll see you there.' Then she scuttled off, leaving Fenwick to stare after her and wonder whether he'd been mistaken for somebody else.

She was waiting for him at a corner table farthest from the door. A pot of tea for two and a plate of biscuits were being set before her as he walked in.

'Emily,' she said thrusting out a bird-like hand. 'Emily Spinning.'

He took her hand and shook it once.

'I'm D-'

'Ssh, yes, I know who you are. Sit down.' She glanced around as if suspecting eavesdroppers but they were on their own. 'You came to see Mr Winkworth about a customer, David Smith.'

'How do you know that?'

'The walls are very thin, Chief Inspector. We have few secrets at the Coalbrook and Watersmere. Tea?'

'You said you might be able to help me?'

'Yes, but if Mr Winkworth finds out I'll be in terrible trouble.'

'I see. Well look, I don't wish to encourage you in anything that might...'

'Oh shush, it's all right. As soon as I heard you were a policeman, I knew it would be about poor Mr Smith.'

Fenwick sipped his tea and did his best to look calm.

'Go on.'

'I've worked at the Society for twenty-four years, ever since I left school, and David Smith senior was one of my customers. His son was named after him. Mr Smith was always nice to me, even when I was new and used to get into a bit of a fumble. Aren't you going to make notes?'

'Of course.' Fenwick pulled out a rarely used notebook and took down details of her name, address and, after much twittering, her age.

'So you knew Mr Smith. What sort of man was he?'

'Oh quiet, shy. Not given to chatter but he always had a smile and a kind word for me.'

'Did you know his son?'

'Young David? Not really. In the early years he used to come in to the branch with his father but that stopped. I think there was a bit of trouble.'

'What sort of trouble?'

'He was ill or something and away from home for a long while. I know because Mr Smith mentioned that it put his schooling back.'

'Why did you think my visit had something to do with Mr Smith?'

'He had his salary paid into our instant access account and he had a savings account too. A very steady man, Mr Smith. Once a month he'd come in to have his pa.s.sbooks updated. He didn't need to but he said he liked things regular. Well, one month, it would be roughly fifteen years ago I think, he comes in and withdraws three hundred pounds in cash!'

'I don't see anything unusual about that.'

'It was a lot of money, Chief Inspector and it wasn't just that once. Every month he came in and withdrew three hundred. His deposit account went from several thousands to nothing over the years.'

'And what did you conclude from this, Miss Spinning?'

'I worried about it because he'd been such a careful saver up until then. And I thought perhaps he's started gambling. I sort of hinted at it once when he came in but he made it clear he'd never placed a bet in his life. So then I thought it must be a mistress! But I saw him and Mrs Smith together and I couldn't believe that either. So in the end I thought, it's blackmail.'

She delivered her last word with a verbal flourish and looked expectantly at Fenwick, who tried to hide his disappointment.

'An interesting theory, Miss Spinning.'

'Emily, please. What do you think?'

'Do you have any corroborative evidence?'

She looked at him blankly.

'Proof?' he asked, hoping he didn't sound as impatient as he felt.

'Well no, not really but he started to look very worried.'

'Money worries?'

'I don't think so. He'd just paid off a twenty-five year mortgage and had a decent job with the Council.'

Fenwick finished his tea and stood to leave.

'Don't go yet. What are you going to do?'

'Try to find Mr Smith, of course, and his wife.'

She looked at him darkly but he didn't have time to worry about her disappointment.

'You don't think he's dead then?'

'What!' He sat down abruptly. 'Why should that be the case?'

'I don't know. Just a feeling. If he had been blackmailed then it would make sense if he killed himself when the money ran out.'

'But you've just told me that he owned his own house.'

'I know but why else would he disappear? He stopped coming in suddenly one summer. There were some letters and phone calls, then nothing.'

'Perhaps he and his wife left the area.'

'Then he would have closed his account very particular like that was Mr Smith.'

'I see; well there's certainly a lot of food for thought here, er Emily.'

'Good. I hope he's alive and that you find him. He was a nice man.'

'Any idea where I should look?'

'Start with his brother, Frederick. They didn't get on, in fact I heard they wouldn't even speak to each other, but he's kin so it's worth a shot.'

'I didn't know he had a brother. Do you know where he lives?'

'Used to have a house in Elm Street. a.s.sisted. Never did a full day's work in his life that man. Chalk and cheese those brothers were. Poor Mr Smith.'

Fenwick paid for their tea and left but Emily ran out after him.

'If you do find him, will you give him my very best, from Emily, and tell him I still work, you know, at the Society.'

'Of course I will.'

Fenwick walked the short distance to Elm Street and found Frederick Smith's house. Paint was flaking from the windows and there was an old washing machine on the front lawn keeping company with three cars in various stages of disa.s.sembly. He could hear a radio blasting from a shed at the back of the property and followed the noise.

A short, squat man was bent over a car battery on a bench.

'Mr Smith?'

'Who wants him?' The man didn't bother to turn around.

'Detective Chief Inspector Fenwick, Harlden CID.'

The man froze for an instant then carried on working with studied casualness.

'What do you want?'

'To talk to you for a few minutes about David Smith.'

That brought him round. Fenwick stared at the blotched face boasting three or four days of stubble and was surprised to see the mouth smile.

'Well, well. At last. What do you need to know?'

'Where to find him.'

'Hah!' The man laughed and spat into the greasy dust at his feet. 'b.u.g.g.e.red if I know. Haven't seen him around here for a couple of years. Good riddance.'

'Could you be more precise about when you last saw him?'

Smith scratched an inch of bare flesh between his T-shirt and jeans, leaving a black mark on the skin.

'Must have been...around Christmas three years ago. He was with a mate in some shopping centre. Can't remember where.'

'You saw your brother three years ago?'

'No, I'm talking about his son David. Haven't seen me brother for longer than that.'

'Did you speak with your nephew?'

'What? You must be joking. Soon as the b.a.s.t.a.r.d saw me he legged it. He knew what he'd get from me if I caught him.'

'And what would that be?'

Smith shut his mouth and it twisted into a bitter grin.

'Never you mind. That's family business.'

'You say he was with a mate, male or female?'

'Young lad. The one they took in. Thick as thieves they were.'