Page 107 of The Black Trilogy

“What?”

“A gardener working three doors up from Luke’s house reckons he saw a transit van a few days before Tia got taken. I’m going to send someone to speak to him.”

“Forget that—I’ll go.”

I was sick of sitting on my backside, waiting for something to happen. Plus if I was driving, I could avoid reading my emails.

Despite its size, the BMW was surprisingly speedy, and it wasn’t long before I arrived in Lower Foxford. Could this be the break we needed?

No, was the short answer. The gardener only saw a white van drive past a couple of times a week previously. It could have been the kidnapper, or it could have been a lost courier. He was almost sure the driver was a man, but the only description he managed was, “I think he had brown hair.”

Along with half the male population. Back to square one.

As I stomped into Luke’s house, I needed coffee, preferably by intravenous drip. Lack of sleep was getting to me.

“Oi, love, could you sign for this?” a voice called from behind. The postman ambled up the drive, whistling tunelessly.

“Sure.”

Anyone else want to keep me from the caffeine I so desperately needed?

He handed me a padded envelope—small, brown, nondescript. Alarm bells rang as I flipped it over. There was no sender’s address.

I scribbled something unintelligible on the postman’s pad and backed into the house, clutching the mystery package.

“What you got, boss?” one of the men stationed there asked.

“No idea, but at least it’s not ticking.”

CHAPTER 32

I RAN MY gloved fingers across the package. What was inside? A small bump in the bottom left-hand corner told me it wasn’t simply a letter.

I pulled out my phone. “Nick, can you find out whether Luke’s expecting a package? Something small in a padded envelope?”

“Have you got something?”

“Maybe. Can you ask him?”

“Gimme a second.”

Muttering followed then Nick came back. “The only thing he’s expecting is a portable hard drive, and that’s being sent to his office.”

Unless this was Barbie’s portable hard drive, it looked like we had a problem. “Can you get the lab on standby?”

“I’m on it. How long will you be?”

“Leaving now.”

We had our own forensics lab in the basement at the office. It didn’t do the flashy stuff—we contracted that out—but the small team could cover most of what we needed. As I pulled into the car park, Nick was waiting.

“Where is it?”

I held up the envelope between a thumb and finger. “Let’s go.”

In the lab, the head technician, Test-tube, pushed back his chair and sauntered over. Of course, his mother didn’t actually name him Test-tube, but I’d never known him as anything else.

“All right, boss?” he asked.

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