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the DVLA in Swansea could find no trace – not for Christie or any previous owner. As far as officialdom was concerned the Land Rover with the registration number on the document simply did not exist. There was also a series of unexceptionable bank statements dating back just under three years which revealed a steady but modest income stream, presumably from Christie’s repair business, but also with occasional and totally unexplained injections of large sums of cash.
    ‘Whoever he was, he was up to something dodgy,’ Mower said. ‘I thought the banks were supposed to bewatching out for unexplained cash payments but no one seems to have noticed this.’
    ‘I think it’s only sums over £10,000, sarge,’ Sharif said.
    ‘So maybe that’s why he’s been paid £9,000 a time, for whatever it is he was paid so generously for,’ Mower said.
    ‘Or maybe he’s only put that much into the bank at any one time,’ Sharif suggested. ‘After all, there is the money we found in the wardrobe.’ He glanced at a blue leather sportsbag stuffed with notes which they had found hidden behind Christie’s meagre selection of neatly stored clothes upstairs. The whole house, Mower had thought as they worked their way around it, had been preternaturally tidy, with a place for everything and everything in its place, even in the children’s bedrooms, where the toys and books and even the teddy bears were neatly marshalled into their allotted places. Someone, he concluded, had had this home in an iron grip.
    ‘You’d better count that lot before we go any further,’ Mower said, glancing at the bag. ‘We don’t want any allegations that a few hundred went walkabout.’ Sharif glanced at Mower with dark, unreadable eyes, as if unsure whether or not to be insulted by this remark, but he pulled a bundle of notes out of the bag anyway, and began to count.
    ‘I’ll call the boss and give him this registration number,’ Mower said, without much enthusiasm. ‘Though if the plates are false, Christie may have changed them for another set by now. If you can lay hands on one false set you can no doubt lay hands on another if you need them. And I’ll bring the DCI up to date on the rest of what we’ve found before we tackle the garage and the workshop. There’s no papers at all here for his business so I guess they must be out there somewhere. He’s obviously a meticulousbastard, so he’ll have them filed away safely for sure.’
    ‘The other odd thing is that there’s no passports for any of them,’ Sharif said. ‘I thought you said they’d lived abroad.’
    ‘So the neighbour said,’ Mower said. ‘Damnation, we should have looked for a passport sooner. If he’s taken it with him we need to alert the ports. I’ll pass that on, too.’
    Sharif glanced around the sitting room where they had displayed some meticulousness themselves in working through every drawer and cupboard but had left the place very obviously less tidy than it had been before they began, and he wondered, like most of his colleagues, at the mental explosion which must have led to the carnage of the previous day. He came from a community where fathers were known occasionally to turn their wrath on their children, on their daughters in particular, and he understood, though he did not condone, the motives for that. But this father’s terrible rage, this madness turned against small children, he did not understand at all. He hoped Gordon Christie was dead while hoping equally fervently that his son was out there somewhere and still alive. While Mower continued his phone discussion with headquarters he pulled the sportsbag towards him again and tipped the bundles of notes onto the floor and began to count again. They were used and dirty and he felt defiled.
    Half an hour later they had moved out of the house and into Christie’s workshop at the back of the house, where the pool of blood in which his older daughter Emma had been found had been sprinkled with