Perfect Remains: A gripping thriller that will leave you breathless. Helen Fields

when they saw me. By university I was bedding any woman I wanted, partying constantly. My mother called them my dark years. I almost never went home, was egotistic and unlikeable. Then I met someone and it changed everything. For six months I managed to behave like a decent human being, my grades improved, I was content.’

      ‘You split up?’ Ava asked.

      ‘We had a petty row. I went out, got drunk and she found me later that night in her best friend’s bed. She left and did not return. I never saw her or spoke to her again.’

      ‘And that changed you forever into the much improved human you are today?’ Ava teased.

      ‘Unfortunately not. I was making extra cash modelling so I threw myself into that world, avoiding the university crowd. It was exploitative, drug-fuelled and toxic. Everyone was out for themselves. I spent my weekends travelling with a bunch of crazy thrill-seekers. If we weren’t drunk or high, we were skiing, scuba diving, sailing or skydiving.’

      ‘Sounds awful.’ Ava raised her eyebrows.

      ‘Everything was excessive which meant, after a while, that it all became commonplace. It’s one of the many things I regret – not being sober enough to appreciate how lucky I was. Then the bubble burst. I got arrested for drunk driving. The police officer was female. I was horribly rude about her looks when she was booking me in at the police station and she slapped my face, hard.’ He rubbed one hand across his cheek at the memory. ‘The officer changed her mind about arresting me. Instead, she put me in a car and drove me two hundred miles back to my mother where she made me stand and listen, sober by then, to the words I’d said to her. For the first time in years, I was truly ashamed. My mother cried with embarrassment. I was at a crossroads, and that police officer sent me the right way. Had it been anyone else who’d arrested me, I would not be here now.’

      ‘She’s the reason you joined up?’ Ava asked.

      ‘She was a part of it,’ he said. ‘It was simplistic, but at the time it made sense. I served in the French police force until I was thirty, then transferred to Interpol where I’ve been for the last five years.’

      ‘So what made you leave?’ Ava asked. Her phone buzzed and she paused to read a text, frowning fiercely and muttering under her breath.

      ‘What is it?’ he asked.

      ‘Another baby has been left in the same park, still alive and on its way to the hospital but the paramedics don’t expect it to survive. How can it be happening again? I’m sorry, Luc, I’ve got to go. I feel bad for leaving mid-conversation.’

      ‘Don’t,’ he replied, ‘at least I found somewhere that cooks steak properly.’

      She smiled. ‘Nice to know what your priorities are.’ Ava put a companionable hand on his shoulder as she walked past him. He jerked away instantaneously, hoped she hadn’t felt it but saw the question in her face. ‘See you tomorrow, Luc. You take care.’

      Ava left him staring at the books, globes and brass lamps adorning the walls. It was as good a place as any to drink wine and not think. He ordered another large glass of red and watched life go by until time was called.

      The next day began too early. It was the first night he’d slept properly in weeks and the awakening beep of his phone was unwelcome. It was Tripp.

      ‘Not sure if it’s relevant, but I’ve been going through Jayne Magee’s neighbours’ statements. One of them saw a man at about the time we think she was taken, going round the corner at the end of the street pulling a large wheelie suitcase. I know it’s unlikely but …’

      ‘I’ll be half an hour,’ Callanach said.

      He was there in twenty minutes, uncharacteristically dishevelled, shirt unironed, socks not even distantly related. Tripp stared as Callanach walked in clutching a steaming cup of coffee without noticing that a substantial amount of it was dripping down his jacket.

      ‘Morning, sir. Everything all right?’

      ‘Show me the statement and cross-reference it with a map.’

      Tripp rummaged through a box of files then laid out documents on Callanach’s desk. ‘Jayne Magee’s house is here.’ He pointed at a red mark on a large scale map of the street. ‘And here,’ he pointed again, ‘about two hundred yards away, is where the neighbour saw the male. Mrs Yale who saw him was walking her dog, coming back into Ravelston Park as the male was exiting onto Ravelston Dykes. She didn’t see where he went after that. You think it’s our man?’

      Callanach was silent. He started scrabbling through desk drawers.

      ‘Er … need any help, sir?’

      ‘No, I have it.’ Callanach held up a tape measure. ‘Lie down on the floor, on your side, tuck your legs and head in as tightly as you can.’

      Tripp looked towards the doorway, mouth open, jiggling from one foot to the other.

      ‘Pour l’amour de Dieu, Tripp, I’m going to measure you, not kill you. Lie down.’

      Tripp assumed the position and held still while Callanach stuck tape to the floor in a rough rectangle.

      ‘Move your feet in a bit,’ Callanach said. ‘And your elbows. Surely you can make yourself more compact than that!’

      ‘I can’t, if I move one limb another sticks out.’

      ‘C’est des conneries!’ Callanach muttered, throwing the measuring tape to the floor. ‘How tall is Jayne Magee?’

      ‘Five foot three,’ Tripp answered, giving up and rolling onto his back, arms outstretched as Callanach made for the door.

      ‘Salter!’ Callanach yelled towards the briefing room.

      Footsteps approached at a pace and she burst through the door.

      ‘What, sir?’

      ‘Tripp will explain. We need to measure you.’ He threw the tape at them as he logged on to his computer. ‘Make yourself small, we must assume she was bound.’

      They finished contorting, taping and measuring just as Callanach found what he’d been looking for on the internet. ‘The largest wheelie case available is thirty-four inches long. Is it feasible?’

      ‘Depends on the depth,’ Tripp said as Salter recovered. ‘But I’d say it’s possible.’

      ‘Salter, go to the shops,’ Callanach handed her a wad of notes, ‘and bring back a thirty-four-inch case, the deepest you can find, strong wheels. Tripp, we’re going to Ravelston Park.’

      They got out of the squad car at the corner where the witness had spotted the male.

      ‘Two street lights, both the opposite side of the pavement from where he was walking,’ Callanach commented. ‘Many trees and high bushes. There would have been little light from the surrounding houses, they’re all situated well back from the road.’

      ‘He must have been turning west though, or he’d have crossed over before the corner,’ Tripp said. ‘So he either parked his car within walking distance from her house or he lives close by.’

      ‘He wouldn’t risk having witnesses to his route home,’ Callanach said. ‘There could easily have been more than one dog walker. The key to this is the vehicle. Have uniformed officers carry out door-to-doors within a quarter-mile radius, checking if anyone saw a man with a case getting into a car, van or truck. We should see if the witness walking the dog can tell us any more.’

      Mrs Yale could be heard before she was seen, yelling at her husband to let Callanach and Tripp in, as she controlled an Airedale Terrier who appeared more hungry than friendly. She was large, in her late seventies and obviously excited by the attention.

      ‘Don’t mind Archie,’ she fluttered. ‘Sit yourselves down. Michael will fetch us tea, won’t you, dear?’ Her husband shuffled dutifully away.

      ‘Mrs