Unearthed

By Pat Noad

Unearthed - Book Five.

She thinks it’s all behind her, that she and photographer Steve can start a serene new life together, now that her nemesis the manic killer Martin Barclay is dead. Wrong! It only takes two phone calls to shatter journalist Annie Bryce’s illusions.

She’s plagued by nightmares after a call from the English detective on the Barclay case. He desperately needs her help to find his daughter, who has gone missing in Australia. Annie's home country. When a minor research job suddenly turns toxic, Annie is mired in a maze of old crimes and new conundrums as she heads into Australia's outback with Inspector Harold Mason to follow a tenuous lead to his daughter – and get out of the way of danger, once again.

At the world famous dinosaur digs in western Queensland the quest for prehistoric fossils interweaves with the search for the girl, and for the shocking truth about that toxic research.

Violence erupts after secrets buried deep in history are finally unearthed. How far will Annie go to reclaim the serenity she craves?

This is the fifth and last of the Annie Bryce Mysteries.

One critic's verdict: A cracker of a read!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pat Noad
• Release date: Aug 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9780987241283

Pat Noad

Pat Noad is an Australian author who divides her time between big city life in Brisbane and getting sand between her toes on the nearby Sunshine Coast, where a lot of her writing happens.Pat’s work as a consultant has taken her to all sorts of nooks and crannies of her vast and varied home state of Queensland. She finds herself intrigued by the old stories passing down the generations in this young country, a country which has matured into a sophisticated society so quickly since the First Fleet unloaded its convict passengers just over two hundred years ago – a country which generally looks to the future rather than back over its shoulder.Her stories often find the blazing Australian sun casting dark shadows from the past across the present, and long-dead skeletons rattling in family cupboards.Pat’s mystery writing sits at the lighter end of the crime fiction spectrum. She also enjoys writing about the ever-changing Australian society in which she lives, and reflecting on the changing nature of our world. She's written a series of five Annie Bryce mysteries along with two anthologies of short stories and essays. Her latest novel 'On the Edge' is her first venture away from crime fiction in novel form.

Book preview

Chapter 1

‘I can’t help feeling,’ said Steve, ‘that this can’t go on.’

He and Annie were enjoying the fading winter sunshine as they strolled along the boardwalk beside the Brisbane River, heading for the Regatta Hotel. Their collars were turned up against the cold breeze blowing off the water. That Sunday afternoon the river was busy with blue and white City Cats trailing their bubbling white wakes, a club of little sailing boats wheeling to and fro, and a few teams of rowers pulling their skiffs rhythmically up river.

‘What?’ She looked up at him, puzzled. ‘What can’t go on?’

‘This … um … what’s the word? … peace? It must be a few months now since anyone tried to kill you. Or stalk you. Or terrorise you. Or con you. Or abduct you. It’s downright eerie.’

‘Serenity.’ Annie stopped. She smiled reflectively. ‘You’re right. It almost feels like a luxury, doesn’t it?’

‘It’s one luxury,’ he pointed out, ‘that money can’t buy.’

‘That makes it priceless,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘What’s more, it must be infectious.’

‘Eh?’

‘Well, think about it. Since we went and got married we can’t even find anything much to fight about. That’s a first. We seem to agree on everything – the house, a family, a career change for me. If we’re not careful we could start finding life a bit dull.’

Moving on, he put an arm around her shoulders. ‘That’s what you said when you proposed to me, remember? You promised us a dull life. I didn’t believe you, of course. Not for a second.’

‘Hey if this is dull, I’m getting a real taste for it.’ There was no doubting the sincerity of her tone.

‘Me too,’ he agreed. ‘Long may it last. But like I said, I’ve got this nasty feeling …’

Perhaps, he was to reflect later, it was his words that had tempted fate.

* * *

A wave of guilt washed over him. Then a wave of despair. Harold Mason leant his forehead against the cold glass of the window of his Brisbane hotel. He’d felt perpetually exhausted since the long flight from England. He supposed it must be all the unaccustomed travel on top of the inevitable stress of his mission. He lay down and closed his eyes for ten minutes, trying to fight the tiredness, trying to plan …

It was that golden afternoon, one of many that had gradually merged into a single radiant memory.

She was about eight, or ten, or twelve, a leggy girl who refused to wear a hat, her long dark hair blowing in the wind which whipped the shores of the English Channel in every season of the year. She never stopped, darting here and there, crying out in wonder when she picked up some fragment on the beach, dashing back to show it to him, to share her excitement with him. He was never far behind her. Together they bent over the tiny fossil imagining the creature it might have once been, guessing how many millions of years ago it might have lived in this sea, on this land. She solemnly recorded the find in her notebook. He carefully wrapped it in a tissue and placed it in their box.

His wife looked up from her book and waved, smiling indulgently. His son stared intently at his fishing line bobbing around in the swelling grey channel, fingers poised to feel the first tug on the line, the first nibble at his bait. That, his father knew, was when his composure would crack and he would yell for back-up.

Happiness had been so simple then, and so very easy to come by, when his family was young, when they were all together.

It seemed a very long time ago.

Rousing himself, he reviewed his plan. He felt uneasy about ringing Annie Bryce. She had nothing to thank him for. He’d wanted to do so much more to protect her, but legally his hands had been tied. He could only hope she’d understood that. He still had a couple of possible leads to follow up in the morning – perhaps he should wait. But Annie was smart, she was young, and she was local; and he needed all the help he could get. Anyway, he reminded himself sharply, this wasn’t about her finer feelings, or his.

This was about Caitlin.

He took out his mobile phone, scrolled down the names and selected hers. Then he pressed ‘call’.

It was the first chip in her serenity.

He didn’t need to announce himself. She knew who he was the second he spoke. The voice was unmistakable. The memories it evoked instantly turned her cold, triggering all-too-graphic images of the dread and terror which had engulfed her only months earlier. Annie’s knuckles whitened around the phone. It took her a few seconds to find her voice.

‘Detective Inspector Mason?’

D.I. Mason had been her long-standing contact in the West Sussex Police Force on the case of Martin Barclay. The invariably formal and precise English police officer for once sounded a bit at sea. He hesitated, then cleared his throat.

‘That’s correct, Ms Bryce. Harold Mason. I do hope you don’t mind my calling. I was pleased to find I still had your mobile number listed. How are you?’

She didn’t answer immediately. ‘Well enough,’ she said cautiously, ‘provided you’re not going to tell me that Martin Barclay has risen from the dead, or that some other member of his unspeakable family is about to slaughter me …’

‘No no, Ms Bryce,’ he said, his heart sinking, ‘it’s nothing like that, rest assured. I’ve taken the liberty of contacting you on a personal matter.’

Personal? The idea of D.I. Mason having a personal life – or indeed a Christian name – had never occurred to her. He seemed to have been born to his rank in the police force. Nevertheless, she forced herself to acknowledge, he had never been less than humane and sympathetic in his dealings with her both personally when she had testified for the prosecution at Martin Barclay’s murder trial in England, and more recently in their many fraught telephone exchanges. That was when Barclay had been pursuing her around Queensland to exact his revenge, threatening her with torture and murder – both of which he very nearly achieved. Suppressing a shudder, she pulled herself together.

‘Oh. Well if I can help … what can I do for you?’

He paused again. ‘It’s complicated, Ms Bryce. It’s about my daughter Caitlin. I’m actually here in Brisbane at the moment, and I wondered if you would be good enough to spare the time to meet with me. You see, I need some advice from someone who knows a lot more about this country than I do.’ Another, longer, hesitation. ‘You struck me as being a very resourceful young woman, if I may say so, and I would very much like to discuss the matter with you.’

‘Your daughter? Is she in some sort of trouble?’

‘I hope not, but I fear she may be.’

Annie moved to the window and stared unseeingly at the empty street below. Her mind was in turmoil. The mere thought of meeting up with D.I. Mason brought the terrors of the past into focus all too clearly – but how could she just walk away from this man after he’d pushed the boundaries of his role to try to help her?

‘Okay,’ she said slowly, hoping she didn’t sound as reluctant as she felt. ‘If you feel it could be useful … when and where would you like to meet?’

‘Thank you, Ms Bryce.’ He relaxed with relief. ‘I have some appointments tomorrow morning … would you possibly be free for a late lunch? Or dinner, if that’s more convenient? I’m staying at a hotel in the city, in George Street, so perhaps you could suggest a restaurant nearby. Otherwise we could meet wherever suits you …’

They arranged to meet at ‘The Lab’ at one.

His heart felt just a little lighter after that conversation. He couldn’t know that Annie’s was suddenly as heavy as lead.

She was glad to be distracted by another phone call, this one very welcome.

‘Just checking, dear. How’s married life?’

Her aunt and close friend Jo was entitled to ask. For years the idea of marriage had scared Annie stiff, but the recent traumas had drawn her inextricably together with Steve. So after a long and often rocky relationship they had tied the knot on Jo’s deck at Peregian Beach, with the ocean rumbling just across the dunes and the honeyeaters twittering in the overhanging banksias – and Annie’s disgruntled mother making no secret of her disgust that her elder daughter had denied her the extravaganza she’d been planning for years.

Annie laughed. ‘All good. Better than good, actually.’

‘And this in spite of those last minute nerves …?’

Annie didn’t want to remember that panic attack. Jo had banished Steve to the surf, calmed her down and talked her round and produced her composed and smiling for the informal ceremony. Irritatingly enough Steve had been quite unfazed and had just taken this drama in his stride. To her chagrin, the wedding shots had captured a pale bride with a tremulous smile standing beside a distinctly triumphant groom.

‘Absolutely. We’re right into making plans. Hey, we think we’ve found a house – we’re just waiting on a building report. We’ve spent every spare minute house-hunting since we got back to Brisbane.’

‘Wonderful! Where? What’s it like?’

‘It’s in Annerley – tin and timber, too expensive of course, but it’s just perfect – a gracious old lady with plenty of space for those kids and the dog that Steve wants so badly, and a lovely verandah, and even a huge mango tree. And before you ask I’m not pregnant yet, but that’s on the list too.’

‘That’s all very promising. But how can the house be too expensive?’ demanded Jo. ‘What about that inheritance of yours?’

‘Oh Jo, I still haven’t got my head around that – and anyway, I won’t get anything until next year.’ A few months earlier a wealthy client of Annie’s had died, and she had been stunned to learn that he had left her a million dollars in his will. ‘But Steve’s adamant that the money is mine, not ours, so spending it has to be my call. We’ll split all our joint expenses fifty-fifty, he says, house included.’

‘Is that so? I wonder how that’s going to work out,’ said Jo reflectively.

‘You and me both.’ Annie was all too aware that this could become a minefield in their relationship. ‘But right now I’m just taking one thing at a time. Maybe I’ll use some of it to do a higher degree and change tack for a while – we both think that could be a good fit with a family.’

‘That could be interesting.’ Jo paused. ‘I know he’s not always easy, but Steve is a good man,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ll need to remember that, Annie.’

‘I know he is, and I will.’

‘Well, all these exciting plans … and for once,’ said Jo, ‘there’s not a single cloud on the horizon. About time, too.’

Annie didn’t mention the call from D.I. Mason.

Maybe it was the solitude, the abrupt separation from his full-on working life, that brought these images flooding back.

Suddenly the eighteen-year-old Caitlin was banging on his door. It was one in the morning, cold, wet. She was sobbing. Her lip was bleeding and an angry bruise was welling on her cheek. Appalled, his heart pounding, he gathered her into his arms.

‘My God! He hit you. That bastard hit you.’

‘He’s been drinking, Daddy. He never meant …’ she choked on her words.

He sat her down and gently examined her injuries. She was so slight, so defenceless. ‘Nothing’s broken, as far as I can tell, thank God – should I take you to the hospital?’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘I just want to go to bed. I’m alright really.’

‘Well, if you’re sure … I could phone the station, have them pick him up and charge him with assault.’ He knew exactly what she’d say to that.

‘No! No, Daddy, you musn’t!’

‘Oh Caitlin … has this happened before?’

He knew from her silence, from her refusal to meet his eyes, that the answer was yes.

He passed a hand over his eyes. Guilt had become his constant companion.

Chapter 2

The sun had long set by the time Steve got home. He’d been out of town shooting a promo for an environmental group on the Lamington Plateau, south-west of Brisbane. He was clearly tired, his big frame sagging slightly, his brown hair tousled.

‘Hard day?’ asked Annie, looking up from her laptop. ‘You were gone before I woke up.’

‘Just a long one,’ he said. ‘It’s a beautiful spot, but it’s one hell of drive for a day’s shoot. I left here at four this morning. I need a shower. Then I need a drink.’

The photography contract that had taken them to North Queensland a few months earlier had put Steve’s business on the map in a big way, and offers of work were raining down on him. He knew he should find a business partner and had in fact put some feelers out, but simply hadn’t had the time to follow through. So it was with mixed feelings that Annie read the email from the national travel magazine wanting a series of articles – Steve’s visuals, her text. Simultaneously thrilled and dismayed, she knew that the proposition would need serious discussion in the cold light of day. She closed the computer down.

Ten minutes later Steve reappeared pulling a sweater over his head.

‘It was freezing up in the mountains today,’ he said. ‘The sunshine was just an illusion – great light, but zero heat.’

Annie turned the heater on and poured them both a drink. She told him about the call from D.I. Mason.

‘Your English cop?’ Frowning, he stroked his beard, a clear sign of contemplation. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

‘No,’ she said soberly, ‘I wasn’t exactly delighted to hear from him either.’

‘I bet you weren’t.’ He glanced across at her. ‘All those dramas are right behind us, Annie, and that’s exactly where they belong. You’ve coped brilliantly, there’s no question, but then we’ve had lots of positives going on and now you’ve got a nice safe PhD in your sights. What did he want?’

‘He said it was personal – something about his daughter.’

‘He’s got a nerve.’

‘It was a bit hard to refuse,’ she said. ‘After all, he did everything he possibly could to help me – I know that in the end it wasn’t enough, but that wasn’t his fault.’

‘Maybe not. But why you? Why go there?’

She swallowed. ‘I said I’d meet him tomorrow.’

Steve took a pull of his beer and glanced over at her. ‘You could cancel. I think you should.’

At that moment his mobile rang.

‘Maxton … oh hi. How did it go? That right? Excellent … yep, email us the details … and your bill of course. Thanks mate. Great job.’ He disconnected, his eyes alight with excitement.

‘And that was …?’ Annie prompted.

He turned to her with a wide grin. ‘The building inspector. The house passed with flying colours. There are a few little issues we can use as bargaining points like replacing the flooring on the verandah – but nothing to stand in the way.’

‘Fantastic!’ They did a high-five. ‘The minute I saw that house,’ she said, ‘I knew it was meant for us.’

‘So did I. Okay, now it’s all go,’ he said. Annie had long since learned about Steve in his unstoppable mode. ‘You can sort out the deposit and the legals and I’ll get back to the agent and start negotiating on price. And I guess I should put the unit on the market.’

‘Oh.’ She found herself taken aback by the speed of events. ‘Will you mind?’

‘Mind what?’

‘Selling the unit. After all, it’s been your home for years.’

‘Annie, it’s never been a home. It’s just been somewhere to dump stuff and somewhere to crash. I can’t wait for us to have a real home. Our home. You’ve got the touch, I’ve seen you do it. And now we’re on our way.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Let’s eat. I’m for an early night.’

The warning call came in the all-too-familiar measured tones of D.I. Mason … the thin, evil face of her nemesis Martin Barclay leered in anticipation … she was paralysed with terror … he’d spelt out exactly what he was going to do to her before he killed her … slash out her eyes, then her tongue … he raised his knife … blood dripped from the blade … then it was somehow poised to plunge into Steve’s chest …

That was when she woke up screaming.

* * *

Harold Mason slept badly, woke early, medicated automatically, dressed hastily, breakfasted sparingly, picked up a map of the CBD and left the hotel, heading to the Botanical Gardens by the river. It was a bright morning but chilly, the colours amazingly vivid, the images sharp in the clear air. Bright, sharp, clear – that’s exactly what he had to be today, he mused, to get the most out of every encounter he had scheduled that day. He needed to prepare himself mentally for the tasks ahead. He lengthened his stride.

The Gardens were a hive of activity with cyclists, joggers, walkers, even roller skaters, all surging along the path by the river. He found himself peering closely at every girl, every woman: it was a long shot, but one of them might, just might, be Caitlin. Nothing was impossible.

* * *

‘You’re not still planning to meet him? Are you completely insane?’

Steve wasn’t just incredulous. He was furious. He’d spent half an hour trying to calm Annie after she woke them both fighting her way out of that nightmare. Her screams had finally faded to sobbing as she clung to him, desperately trying to reconnect with reality. The sky was growing pale by the time they both got back to sleep.

‘It was just a bad dream, Steve,’ she said weakly. ‘I feel perfectly okay this morning. Anyway I promised I’d be there.’

Steve put two coffees on the table, jammed some bread into the toaster and sat down with a thump.

‘Listen to me, Annie.’ He struggled to rein in his temper. ‘What you went through when Barclay was after you was devastating – no, worse than devastating – it was gothic horror. Now I know you’ve rejected counselling and you’re sticking to your mantra of getting on with life, but all it took was one phone call to hurl you right back there into the middle of it all. When it comes down to it, you don’t owe Mason one bloody thing. Why put yourself at even more risk? You’re only human like the rest of us. Just phone the restaurant and leave a message for him that you’re sick.’

She drank some coffee, relishing the taste of the bitter hot liquid and the instant hit.

‘I’m not so sure about that. I’ve been thinking about the pros and cons,’ she said reflectively. ‘On the whole I feel it could be better for me to confront him. It would sort of put things in perspective, wouldn’t it? And normalise them? After all right now he’s just a worried father.’

‘It’s playing with fire, that what it is,’ he snapped.

‘Hey,’ she said gently, putting her hand on his. ‘You know me. I’d always rather meet trouble head on. It’s who I am.’

‘Unfortunately that’s all too true.’ He paused, his lips thinned. ‘But just this once you should listen to me, Annie. And it’s not just me – your famous right brain is telling you the same thing. That terrible nightmare proves how very fragile you still are.’

She looked down at the table. ‘You might be right, Steve. I hope you’re not. There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? And as far as counselling goes – well, what would it achieve? What happened happened; it wasn’t my fault. Yes it was horrible, it’s left some scars at least in the short term – but then it would, wouldn’t it? What would be the point in going over and over it?’

Steve sighed. ‘Okay, I’ll buy that. But Annie, now we’re married I have responsibility for you – well, we do for each other, don’t we? And God knows I love you, though sometimes I’ve got to wonder why, you are so bloody pig-headed – not to mention having an absolute genius for making life hard for yourself. Just stay home today and forget all about Mason. Whatever his problem is, it’s nothing to do with you.’

The toast popped up and she went over to the bench to collect it, putting her arms around Steve’s neck and resting her chin on his head.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said.

He slammed the door on his way out.

* * *

It was mid-morning before Harold realised he was just going through the motions: asking questions from the list he’d compiled, of people from another list he’d compiled, and meticulously noting down their often vague and invariably negative answers. That was what policemen did, he reminded himself bitterly, they worked by elimination. He’d had a lifetime of it. It was the way to get results. But deep down he knew his heart wasn’t in it. Deep down, he despaired.

He glanced at his watch, already regretting that he’d arranged to meet Annie Bryce. Realistically, what could she add to the sum of what he’d found, which was practically nothing? And he knew she’d be wary of him: he’d heard the hesitation, the reluctance, in her voice. He could hardly blame her.

Chapter 3

By the time she reached the restaurant Annie’s confidence was evaporating fast. With Steve’s words ringing in her ears she began to wonder if she could go through with this meeting. She detoured to the ladies’ room, splashed her face with cold water and repaired what little make-up she was wearing. Leaning on the basin she took some deep breaths, her pale, anguished reflection seeming to underline Steve’s warnings. Eventually, her heart hammering, she forced herself to walk into the restaurant. Harold Mason stood to greet her.

They’d met in person only once. That had been in the Lewes County Court in Sussex, where Annie had taken the near-fatal step of testifying against Martin Barclay when he was tried for murder. All their other, more recent, encounters had been by telephone. He recognised her immediately as the slight, fair-headed young woman with a green jacket over her shoulders hesitated at the door. She looked anxiously around the room, then raised her hand when she saw him. He’d forgotten those green eyes. With a jolt he registered the surprise and concern on her face. He knew how he’d aged: in the years since that meeting, his life had fallen apart.

Annie remembered Mason as a slim, dark-haired, good-looking man in his late forties, with an air that inspired confidence. Now she was taken aback at his appearance. Impeccably dressed in casual clothes, he looked like a mere shadow of his former self: greyer, much thinner, less assured, much more worn. Her own anxieties were suddenly swamped by a wave of sympathy.

He extended his hand. ‘Ms Bryce, it is so good of you to make the time. I hope you’re fully recovered from that terrible ordeal Martin Barclay inflicted on you.’

‘More or less,’ she responded noncommittally. ‘Life moves on, doesn’t it? And do call me Annie.’

He smiled slightly. ‘So that makes me Harold. Please.’

After they ordered their meals he cast around for an icebreaker. ‘It must be a great relief to you that Barclay is finally dead,’ he said, ‘although sitting in Sussex and reading the report of that crocodile attack was little short of surreal.’

She winced. ‘I’d really rather not talk about the case,’ she said after a hesitation. ‘I’ve been making a big effort not to dwell on it.’

He was instantly contrite. ‘I’m so sorry. That was thoughtless of me.’

‘Don’t worry. You weren’t to know that I’m still struggling with it all sometimes …’

He looked at her keenly. ‘That’s hardly surprising. Anyway, perhaps it would be best if I told you what this is all about.’

He could recite the litany by heart. Intensely reserved by nature, he’d initially found it painful to spill out the details to strangers, but by now he was completely inured.

‘My daughter Caitlin came out to Australia six months ago. I haven’t heard from her for nearly four months.’ He reached into the pocket of his jacket and passed her a photo of a slight girl with a thin, serious face, long dark hair and dark eyes.

‘She’s just turned twenty-two,’ he went on. ‘At that age she’s entitled to live her own life, so the police here can hardly pull out the stops to find her.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Needless to say I’ve said the same thing to countless frantic parents of young adults over the years.’

Annie fingered the photograph. ‘But you’re worried. Is there a particular reason?’

‘It’s a long story, I’m afraid,’ he said.

‘Tell me.’

‘You see,’ he said, ‘my wife died of cancer four years ago. It was hard for all of us – I have a son too, he’s three years older than Caitlin – but at seventeen she ran right off the rails. Despite my best efforts she cleared out of school and found a bit of casual work in cafes. Then she took up with this villain who had trouble written all over him and a record into the bargain. She was a good student,’ he added sadly.

‘What was the attraction?’ Annie’s eyes were still on Caitlin’s waif-like image.

‘God knows. Maybe it was just that – trouble. Living on the edge. The thrill of fear. Knowing you’re alive.’ He looked away. ‘My wife and I had been very protective of our family. Too much so, perhaps.’ He sighed. ‘It’s not easy, being a parent – I daresay that’s still ahead of you.’

She smiled suddenly, her green eyes lighting up. ‘It is. I got married recently and we both want children.’ She paused, reflecting how easily this phrase tripped off her tongue after so many years of doubt. Steve’s enthusiasm was certainly infectious, she thought wryly.

‘Well – my congratulations, Annie.’ Harold’s voice was warm. ‘I hope you’ll be as happy as I was in my marriage.’

‘Thank you. Did Caitlin move in with the boyfriend?’

‘Yes. She was only eighteen when she left home. Predictably enough – to me anyway, as a policeman – the violence started a few months later.’

‘Oh no.’ Annie glanced again at the vulnerable image in her hand. ‘He abused her?’

‘All too often. She’d turn up at home covered in bruises and stay a few nights while he grovelled on the phone and at the door but nothing I could do, nothing I could say, would stop her going back to that piece of rubbish. She flatly refused to make a formal complaint so legally my hands were tied. She says she loves him.’ He lifted his eyes. ‘I find that completely incomprehensible, Annie.’

She nodded, thinking of her old friend from University. She’d recently met Rachael Anders again in Townsville. She’d been appalled to find that now, with three young children, Rachael was trapped in an abusive marriage: fearing her husband, fearing to leave, convinced it was somehow her fault, telling herself she still loved him … Not wanting to interrupt the flow, Annie stayed silent.

‘Anyway,’ Harold resumed, ‘last year he was picked up for extortion and eventually he went down for six months.’ He gave a twisted smile. ‘He got too ambitious for his own good. So that was my chance.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Well, as a child Caitlin had always been fascinated by fossils – of course living near the south coast we would often find tiny remnants on the beach and in the cliffs. I’d hoped that might be her career. So when I read a snippet in the local paper about a Brighton woman who volunteered to join some dinosaur excavations in Australia, I mentioned this to her – and I saw the first real spark of interest for years. She even followed it up herself and found out the details. I offered to pay for her to come out here and join a dig. I thought – hoped – a complete change of scene might make her see sense.’

‘And she agreed?’

He looked away. ‘I suppose I forced the issue but yes, she did. She arranged the visa and I did everything else – bought her an airline ticket with an open-dated return and a cash passport, gave her a credit card linked to my account and a pre-paid mobile phone and drove her to Heathrow.’ A shadow passed across his eyes. ‘You can see how far I trusted her.’

‘With good reason, I guess.’ Annie’s tone was sympathetic.

He shot her a grateful glance. ‘That was six months ago. The plan was that she’d spend some time sightseeing before making her way to the excavations. She never rang. She did send postcards from Sydney and the Gold Coast and her brother received a few emails, none of them saying anything much. But we’ve heard nothing at all for months.’

‘I can understand that you’re concerned. So how can I help?’

He was silent for a little. ‘Annie, I’m in unfamiliar territory here. I’ve talked to the local police, of course, at various levels, and I’ve made enquiries about paleontological excavations as best I can. I must say everyone has been most helpful and courteous.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘The Australian Museum in Sydney gave me a list of sites which are currently active.’ He produced a paper and smoothed it open on