Rupert shook his head as he stared at the five bulky files on his desk. His experience took over as he formed the jigsaw. Five missing women. Everyone was on their way to see the vicar, who was not there. Who had set the trap, and what happened between their homes and the vicarage? A few women went missing due to foul play. Most men and women have had enough of their lot and decide to leave and start again elsewhere. This also includes those who leave family and friends to create a new life. He read and digested each report in detail. In every instance, the force had searched the areas concerned. Crime Watch gave air time and displayed up-to-date photographs.

With not the slightest lead, he sighed. They became a file on the desk and sank lower in the heap every day. One constant remained, the local vicar. The priority was discovering the connection between these missing women and the vicar. But how to go about it bothered him. According to the files, Ian Spence came to the area some time ago. Everyone likes him.

He opened his office door and beckoned to Maggie.

She smiled, stopped what she was doing and strolled towards him. "Yes, boss."

"I need your help. When I was a proper copper, I'd sit with the team, and we would throw all our ideas into the pot. Well, I have five more missing women, which gives us seven. Each case is the same. Grab a seat, and let's talk."

"Those files are covered in dust. Any chance of a posh coffee?"

"I wouldn't say it's posh. The coffee's from Tesco's."

"You haven't had a cup from the canteen lately. It tastes awful and looks worse."

"Get yourself a coffee, and we'll get started."

Maggie filled a mug from the percolator and seated herself. "Ready, boss."

"You interviewed Mr Dickson. He didn't have a clue why his wife disappeared." He pointed at the table. "Reading those reports brings me to the same conclusion. It's as if no one cared. It would make more sense if someone had written an alien craft landed and abducted them."

She sipped her coffee and took her time before answering. "I'm sure the force did what was necessary, but with no body and no evidence, they stopped searching. I'm sure there were enough crimes, such as burglaries, requiring investigation. And I bet most didn't end up with a conviction."

"I agree, but we'll review everything again before we close the cases. You and Julie will be busy checking these out. Linda and Wendy will have to manage."

Maggie grinned. "Those two won't mind. They're good at sorting files much better than me."

"You're still their boss."

"Correct, but a boss with little to do."

"Life deals each of us different cards. You will progress in the force, and they will remain office clerks. Every peg has to find the right hole to be happy. The most valuable lesson a senior sergeant told me. Never believe what everyone else says is valid until you know it is. We're missing something, Maggie. The best we can do is find it."

"There are too many coincidences, sir. These woman left their homes to meet the vicar, or so they believed. Whoever contacted them, they trusted, and we need to establish who that person is."

"April Thompson is the next in line."

"I'll contact the husbands in the morning to arrange meeting dates and times. I'll take Julie with me. She's rather observant and might notice something I miss."

"I agree, and it's time to call it a day."

Outside the office, Maggie stopped Julie. "We will be interviewing tomorrow. Wear your uniform."

She smiled. "Yes, boss."

***

The following morning, Maggie checked the April Thompson file. She telephoned Mr Thompson, hoping he had not moved. A man answered, "Who are you, and what do you want? I already have double-glazing."

"Sorry to disturb you, sir. I'm Sergeant Bell, part of the cold case investigation team. Are you Mr Thompson, whose wife disappeared seven years ago?"

"Bert Thompson," came a gruff reply. "If you've found her, tell her to get lost."

"I need to go through the file with you."

"Do you have to?"

"The file is still open, sir. You never know. You might remember something of importance."

"I doubt it. When can you get this done?"

"I can be at your address in half an hour. I will be bringing another officer with me."

"How long will this take?"

"At worst, an hour, sir."

"Well, get your skates on. I have better things to do than waste my time with you." The line went dead.

***

Maggie drove and chatted with Julie along the winding roads to the village of Pocton. The only thing defining it as a village was the memorial hall. Seventy-five-year-old single-storey thatched cottages and a dozen new builds along the main street. The Thompson house was behind the pub.

Julie peered through the window. "It might be newer, but it's a dump. I wouldn't want to guess the last time Thompson mowed his lawn. A coat of paint would do wonders for the windows."

"We're not here to comment on how he lives. He didn't sound the nicest person in the world, so let's go."

With Julie standing beside her, Maggie pressed the bell push. Minutes elapsed before she tried again. No one appeared, and the bell push was not working. With her fist, she thumped the door.

Eventually, the door opened.

Maggie held up her warrant card. "Your bell doesn't work."

"I know. It's fucked. Don't get many visitors these days."

"I apologise for the inconvenience, but the quicker we start, the sooner we finish."

He gave them the once over, frowning at Julie. "Come in. We'll talk in the kitchen."

A glance at the rubbish strewn about the hallway told Maggie and Julie Mr Thompson was not house proud.

"Since the bitch fucked off, I don't give a toss about much. It's warm and dry, and the woman at the laundrette does my washing. My meals come from the Freezer Centre. You should try them. They're not half bad once you get used to them."

"I gather you don't work."

Bert pointed to two wooden chairs. "Sergeant, you can sit there opposite me. She can stand."

"If you don't mind, Mr Thompson, I'll stand. You served in the army for twenty years. Yes or no?"

"Are we going to check every line in your file?"

"Was your marriage okay?"

"Depends what you mean. I bought the house and gave her a few quid. She worked in the village post office for pin money. We had sex once a week. He shrugged. Friday night was my get a fuck night."

"What was your job on leaving the services?"

"I drove the council rubbish truck. With my pension and wages, we lived okay."

"Did you drive in the services?"

"If it had wheels and an engine, I drove it."

"Twenty years and you made corporal. Not exactly setting the world on fire, were you?"

"It's in the file. I had a problem with the booze. Couldn't get enough and couldn't give it up. April left because I was an alcoholic. Why are you going through this again?"

"The file was never closed. What do you think happened?"

"I haven't a clue. April cleared off, and good fucking riddance. Never heard a word. She's gone. I don't know where she is and don't care. Stop fucking hassling me."

"I understand, but the case remains open. I'll let you know when it's closed."

Julie shut her notebook. "Sorry to have troubled you, Mr Thompson."

He checked his watch. "Need to get a move on. Got a darts match in the pub at twelve."

Maggie and Julie strolled to the main door, opened it and left. Mr Thompson slammed it behind them.

Almost laughing, Maggie turned to Julie. "Married to him, I would have run a mile. The man's an arsehole. He made my skin crawl."

Julie sighed. "Not exactly my flavour of the month. And I don't think he had the time of day for me."

Maggie smiled, "It's not you. He's a miserable sod. Anyway, with luck, we'll return to the office for lunch. We have the village of Chowton and Mr. Shepherd to interview. Identical in every respect to the other disappearing wives. Susan Shepherd left home on her Vespa Scooter and was never seen again. From the file, I gather she was a free spirit."

Julie smiled and nodded. "What do you mean by a free spirit?"

"Quite simply, Susan Shepherd did whatever, whenever she could. Uninhibited says it all."

Julie laughed. "When are we going to interview normal people?"

"Men go on the pull, Julie, so why shouldn't women?"

"If you're single, not a problem. But married women. God help them. Mind you, we're all guilty in one way or another. There are a few one-night stands I wish never happened. You know what I mean. You wake up in the morning, look at them and hope you didn't, but know you did."

Maggie smiled in agreement. "Now you know why the boss asked you to read why people go missing. Being married or single doesn't matter. The person who connects these women is the local vicar. Yet the evidence, confirmed by others, tells us he was elsewhere. So where were these women going? Find the answer, and you win the coconut."

On their return to the station, the two women drank their coffee and ate sandwiches from the machine.

Maggie placed her empty cup on the table and checked the time on the clock above the counter.

"I need to check my phone. I left Mr. Shepherd a message this morning. If he hasn't replied, it's back to sorting files."

At the reception, Maggie punched in the number for her answerphone. "We're in business. Time to leave, Julie."

Ten minutes later, Maggie drove along the country lanes towards Chowton.

"Wow, this is different." Maggie stared through the windscreen at what appeared to be a restored manor house. She rechecked the address. "This is the place." The driveway was block-paved and could have parked at least five cars. One gleaming Jaguar stood nearest the main door.

The door opened. The man's handsome face, sultry eyes, and lean figure gave him the looks of a film star. "If he's Peter Shepherd, he could take me to dinner anytime," said Maggie.

Julie giggled. "Not my type. He appears to be too sure of himself."

They strolled towards the entrance.

"I've some fresh coffee brewing. Ground the beans myself. Would you and your colleague enjoy a cup of my brew?"

Peter guided them through a short entrance hall into a large open-plan lounge and dining room. On the farthest wall was the largest TV screen they had ever seen.

"Home cinema," said Peter. "Top of the range. Milk and sugar in your coffee?"

Together, they replied, "Black, please."

"Best we sit at the table. Grab your coffee." Peter seated himself at the head of a solid oak table and waited for them to join him.

"You said you were continuing enquiries into several women who went missing in the area. How can I help?"

"From the file, it appears Susan Shepherd left you a note which told you she had an appointment to see the vicar."

"Spot on. I arrived home a couple of days after she wrote the note."

"You never contacted her while you were away?"

"No, I didn't. Do you know what an open marriage is?"

Maggie smiled. "It's when you agree you can have other sexual partners."

"In its basic form, you are right. My evenings in London were with Rachel Conor. I hate hotels, and between us, the sex is fantastic. Don't bother checking her number in the file. When Susan vanished, she moved in. I know what you're thinking. I'm still married to Susan. I am for a while longer, but I've applied to have her declared dead."

"Were you bothered by Susan leaving?" asked Julie.

Peter leant his elbows on the table. "At first, I wondered where she was. I'm not sure, but we were becoming tired of each other. You know, same old, nothing new. I did think she could have told me. Wherever she is, I hope she's happy and enjoying life to the full."

Maggie brushed her hair from her face. "What did Susan do with her time? I imagine it's quite lonely out here in the sticks."

"Interior design for those who have more money than sense. Worked in the big cities for wealthy clients. Our relationship suited our lifestyles.

If you find her, tell her if she has nothing better to do. I'd love to meet up somewhere, for old-time's sake. You know what I mean."

Maggie grinned. "I know what you mean. Anyway, thank you for your time. I'll let you know if we discover anything new or close the case."

"What did you think of the coffee?"

Julie fixed him with a stare. "You don't have to tell me, but were the beans expensive?"

"When you want the best, you must pay the top price."

Julie coughed. "Whoever you buy them from is ripping you off. The beans are burnt, not roasted."

Peter glared. "My God, a woman who thinks she understands the vagaries of coffee. Whatever next."

"Mr Shepherd, my father earns his living selecting the right coffee beans for Harrods. I assume you've heard of the store. In answer to your question, it's rubbish. Nescafe Gold Blend is far superior."

Maggie found it difficult not to smile. "We have other interviews, Julie. It's time we left. Thank you, Mr Shepherd."

In the confines of her car, Maggie turned to Julie. "He asked the question, and you hung him out to dry. Brilliant."