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with her again. Not much chance for the next few days now this had come up, but one day.
    Most of the family liaison team had also left for the weekend but Millie Khatoon remained. Mariner was glad. They’d worked cases together before and for several years now Millie had brought to family-liaison work the kind of openness and down-to-earth commonsense that was instantly reassuring to families under duress. As the group hurried out to their cars, Mariner talked through what Mann had told him, his own weekend obligations temporarily forgotten as his mind raced through the procedure. Right from the start with an incident such as this there was a careful balance to be struck between acting quickly before the abductor had a chance to build any kind of relationship with the baby, and an equal need to be methodical and systematic so that no important details were overlooked.
    Blues and twos eased them through the building rush-hour traffic that seemed to begin earlier and earlier on a Friday afternoon. As they drove, Mariner put in a call on his mobile to Anna, but the line was engaged. He didn’t leave a message. ‘I’ve never handled a baby-snatch before,’ he said, to no one in particular. ‘Haven’t even been directly involved in an investigation.’
    ‘I have.’ Knox was grim. ‘It didn’t turn out well.’
    After a couple of seconds it dawned on Mariner. ‘Adam Teale,’ he said, out loud. Christ. He’d forgotten that Knox was up on Merseyside back in 1991 when the toddler had disappeared, only to turn up three days later strangled and beaten to death. ‘This is different,’ he said, sincerely hoping that the outcome would be, too. ‘There it is.’
    They’d almost driven past the nursery before Mariner spotted it, set as it was on the main through route connecting the suburbs of Selly Oak and Harborne. The kind of place he’d have driven past scores of times before without noticing. There was no obvious adjacent parking, so continuing past Glover manoeuvred them into a neighbouring cul-de-sac, Mann and his contingent following in convoy. The street was already lined with cars, but each driver managed to find a space, then they all trooped back the twenty or so yards along the main road. A little further up from the cul-de-sac and on the opposite side of the road they passed the entrance to the city’s teaching hospital, the Queen Elizabeth. This was an area thick with traffic and pedestrians, Mariner noted, and instantly the odds began stacking against them.
    Jack and the Beanstalk nursery was housed in a squat redbrick that stood apart from its neighbours in a tiny garden enclosed by high spiked iron railings. A red painted board in the garden advertised it as a Private Day nursery for babies and toddlers aged 0-5 years. A sticker affixed to the lower part of the board advertised free places for three-and four-year-olds, with a directive to enquire within. Someone was watching out for them, and as they passed through the gate and into the garden, the main front door opened on a young woman in a royal blue tunic. Tall and slender, with shoulder-length blondish hair, she was young enough for her hormones to still be playing havoc with her complexion.
    Mariner had his warrant card ready, though with PCs Mann and Khatoon in uniform it hardly seemed necessary. ‘I’m DI Mariner and these are DC Knox, DC Glover, PC Mann and PC Khatoon.’
    ‘Samantha.’
    The introductions, like her limp-fingered handshake, seemed a strange formality in the circumstances. As they all crammed into the narrow hallway the front door was closed, blotting out the traffic noise. ‘I’m the deputy manager.’ Her voice was thin and nervous. ‘Mrs Barratt who owns and manages the nursery has just popped out.’
    ‘Where to?’ Mariner asked.
    ‘She had an emergency, personal I think, and after that she might have gone to the cash and carry. She’ll go ballistic. I’ve tried to get her on her mobile, but she must be driving.