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pile of newspapers where he had spotted an unfinished crossword. He shook the paper open and returned to the chair behind his desk. His brow furrowed as he looked over the puzzle; within a minute he had thrown the paper down on the desk. He stared at it. Then he stared closer.
    Ê»Good God!ʼ Bartlett jumped to his feet, knocking over his empty teacup.
    Boase was glad of some reaction.
    Ê»Calm down, sir, now look, youʼve broken your favourite cup.ʼ
    Ê»Good God, man, never mind that, take a look at this.ʼ Bartlett was frantically folding the paper to present to the younger man.
    Boase took the newspaper and read the page that had been held in front of him.
    Ê»Would Miss Ivy Williams, daughter of the late Maude Mockett, and last known to be living in Falmouth, Cornwall, on reading this, please contact the following firm regarding a matter of the utmost importance.ʼ
    Bennett, Bennett, Thornton & Bennett
    127, Oxford Street
    London
    Boase frowned. Ê»What does this mean, sir?ʼ
    Ê»Iʼve no idea, Boase,ʼ replied Bartlett, Ê»but I intend to find out – come with me.ʼ
    Leaving Bartlettʼs office and pausing only at Superintendent Greetʼs open door to leave a hasty message, the two men crossed the lobby. As they reached the main door, a short man entered from the other side. Round in the face with a hat at least two sizes too small perched on his head, and wearing a grey raincoat with a tartan scarf around his neck, he held the door open for his wife who was slowly making her way to the entrance. She was small and thin with grey hair and wearing a brown felt hat and brown overcoat. Her face looked almost blue. She paused at the door and seemed to have difficulty breathing.
    Ê»Come on, love,ʼ the man beckoned his wife. Ê»You can sit down for a minute now.ʼ
    Bartlett and Boase immediately recognised the couple as Mr and Mrs Berryman, the parents of Norma.
    Bartlett looked at his assistant. Ê»Oh no, I want to get to the railway station, quicklyʼ he muttered, half under his breath, knowing he was now likely to be delayed. He had a great deal of respect for the Berryman couple and felt, at least, he should listen to what they had to say.
    Mr Berryman approached them.
    Ê»Officer, Mr Bartlett, sir.ʼ
    Ê»Good morning, Mr Berryman, Mrs Berryman. What can I do for you?ʼ
    Ê»You can find out whatʼs ʼappened to my daughter, thatʼs what.ʼ Mrs Berryman, having regained her breath, seemed suddenly rejuvenated and lunged forward at the senior officer. Her husband put his arm around her, half heartedly trying to restrain her.
    Ê»Donʼt, Peggy. Itʼs not Mr Bartlettʼs fault.ʼ
    Ê»It bloody is. All of you in this police station, doinʼ nothinʼ. You should ʼave found my baby by now. Call yerselves policemen?ʼ
    Her husband kept his arm round her, trying all the while to reassure her.
    Ê»Is there no word at all, Mr Bartlett, sir?ʼ
    Bartlett put his hand on the manʼs shoulder.
    Ê»Iʼm so sorry, Mr Berryman, thereʼs still no news of your daughter, if we learn anything, anything at all, you have my word Iʼll let you know immediately. I admit I was confident to begin with, I really thought weʼd have news by now but please donʼt give up hope.ʼ
    Bartlett led the way into his office and Mr Berryman, leaving his wife in the lobby, followed. He lowered his voice. He looked pale and drawn and it was obvious that he had had very little sleep.
    Ê»Itʼs Peggy,ʼ the man removed his small hat and was turning it over and over in his hands, ʼshe … she says sheʼs sure our Normaʼs … our Normaʼs …  dead.ʼ As he spoke the final word he clutched his chest and sighed as if a pain had struck right through his heart. He was grimacing now as he fought back the tears.
    Ê»Please, Mr Berryman, you mustnʼt think like that, you must have hope.ʼ
    This was one of the rare occasions that