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the question just what had the girls been running from?

TWO
    D aniel wasn’t good with unsolved mysteries. He’d been the kind of copper who would think nothing of putting in hours of unpaid overtime just to follow up a lead or see an investigation through to its conclusion. At such times he’d been far more popular with his superiors than with his wife, but it was this same drive that saw him out of the bath after only a few minutes and reaching for his mobile phone.
    A quick search through his call log brought up Reynolds’s number, and a few seconds later, a man answered curtly.
    â€˜Patrescu.’
    â€˜Er, can I speak to John Reynolds?’
    There was a pause and then the voice said, ‘Who is calling?’
    â€˜Daniel Whelan.’
    After another short interval, Reynolds spoke. ‘Mr Whelan. I was going to ring you . . .’
    He left the statement hanging, and after waiting a moment or two for him to elaborate, Daniel said, ‘So, any news? Have you found her?’
    â€˜Yes, indeed. Katya is safe and well. She found her own way off the moor and reached us just after you left. She was cold and tired and very sorry for the trouble she’d caused, but we’ve put it all behind us now and we’re just glad to have them both back.’
    â€˜That’s excellent news!’
    â€˜Yes, well, I’m sorry I hadn’t got round to ringing you. We just wanted to get the girls home and into a hot bath.’
    â€˜That’s all right. Just as long as they’re both OK.’
    â€˜They’re fine. No harm done. Thank you for your help, Mr Whelan. And give your dog a big bone from me, will you?’
    Daniel said he would and rang off, wondering why he didn’t feel more joy. By the time he’d sorted himself out some supper, he’d decided it was because the instinctive antipathy he’d felt towards Reynolds at the outset just wouldn’t go away, and neither would the memory of Elena’s desperate face. Reynolds had said all that was proper, but somehow his words lacked the ring of sincerity.
    And who was Patrescu? The brother? Another relative? How many men were sharing this holiday with the girls? Daniel didn’t like the direction his thoughts were taking.
    Waiting for the microwave, he found himself dwelling on certain inconsistencies in the day’s events and decided that, if only for his own peace of mind, he needed to clear them up.
    The Internet connection at Daniel’s flat ran at a snail’s pace – due, he supposed, to its rather remote location. These days, he generally only used it to exchange emails with Drew and very infrequently with Amanda, so it didn’t bother him unduly, but on the odd occasion that he wanted to surf the net, it invariably reduced him to swearing at the machine in sheer frustration.
    This was one of those occasions.
    Hair curling damply from his bath, Daniel sat at the table that did duty as a desk, with a bowl of yesterday’s bolognese in his lap, and tapped his fingers impatiently as the screen morphed, bit by painfully slow bit, from one webpage to the next. He was dressed in jeans and a thick sweatshirt to make up for the inadequacy of the two-bar electric fire that was the room’s only heat source at present. The boiler was on the blink, and although his landlord had promised to get it seen to, as yet no technician had materialized.
    From the table beside the laptop he picked up a photograph of Drew, taken last year on his eighth birthday. Daniel had taken him to Longleat Safari Park for the day. A day to remember, one of the last really happy ones before Daniel’s life began to disintegrate.
    In the picture, Drew was smiling broadly, high on the excitement of seeing lions and wolves in the flesh. Opinion was pretty evenly divided on whether the boy took more after his mother or father. He had inherited Daniel’s wideish mouth, hazel-brown eyes and wavy brown hair,