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know, really. If I can’t track him down, there’s not much I can do. Let’s hope he wasn’t.’
    â€˜Then you’ll be happy?’
    â€˜Well, maybe happy is pitching it a bit strong, but happier , definitely.’
    Figgis answered his phone promptly and seemed incurious as to why Daniel wanted the information.
    â€˜Last night? Nah. Quiet night, last night. Been a quiet few days. No call-outs, just training.’
    â€˜What about over Bovey way?’
    â€˜Not that I know of. I’ll likely see Brian in the pub later. He’d know, but I haven’t heard anything, and usually I do. All right, mate?’
    â€˜Yeah. Thanks for that.’ Daniel replaced the receiver and sighed.
    â€˜Reynolds was lying,’ Bowden said, watching his face.
    â€˜Yes, he was. Damn him.’
    â€˜So he has got something to hide.’
    â€˜Looks that way, doesn’t it?’
    â€˜So what now?’
    â€˜Well, right now I’m going to take Taz for a walk. As for Reynolds – or whatever his name really is – I’ll have to give it some thought.’ He finished his coffee, put the mug back on the desk and got up to go. Taz stood instantly, waving his bushy tail in anticipation. Walk was one word he thoroughly approved of.
    â€˜You should come to supper one night,’ Bowden suggested. ‘Meet my wife. She’s gagging to see Taz. She loves dogs.’
    â€˜Thank you.’ Daniel responded automatically but without any intention of taking Bowden up on the offer. It was a shame. He liked the man, but in his experience social occasions nearly always led to awkward questions sooner or later. It was only natural.
    Over the next few days, with nothing he could usefully do about it, Daniel tried to relegate the Reynolds affair to the back of his mind. Further attempts to track down The Pines had proven unsuccessful and led him to conclude that there was no such place.
    He had toyed with the idea of contacting one of his ex-colleagues to see if anything could be gleaned from Reynolds’s mobile number, but he shied away from actually doing it, unsure of his welcome. His departure from the force had been attended by much unpleasantness, and he had no doubt that in the intervening months his reputation would have been further blackened by those he had crossed.
    If those last days and weeks had taught him anything, it was that when push comes to shove, most people ultimately look after number one. Even, it seemed, those who professed to be friends.
    He might still have chanced it if he’d been a bit more certain as to what he could do with any information he might obtain. Even if he had an address for Reynolds, he could hardly ring the doorbell and demand to see the girls: he had no authority or grounds to do so.
    Reluctantly he let the idea go and life settled back into its unexciting routine, until the Friday a week after the search, when Daniel was making an early delivery to Quarry Farm Racing Stables, southeast of Tavistock, a regular drop on his round.
    It was a smallish yard, nestling in a steep-sided valley, where owner Tamzin Ellis trained around a dozen point-to-point and National Hunt horses. The stables were old but serviceable, and beyond them, a number of paddocks sloped up on either side of a small stream.
    As he parked the lorry close to the feed store, Tamzin herself appeared.
    â€˜So, where were you last week?’
    Large, expressive grey eyes, long fair hair caught up in a loose knot and a pencil-slim figure made her a sight to gladden the heart of any red-blooded male, and Daniel was no exception.
    He made a rueful face. ‘Figgy did this area instead. Luck of the draw.’
    â€˜I missed you,’ Tamzin said. ‘Figgy’s OK, but he doesn’t do this . . .’ She leaned forward to give him a lingering kiss in the privacy of the open cab door.
    â€˜Oh, I don’t know . . .’ Daniel responded straight-faced.