The Verdict. Olivia Isaac-Henry

      Only the latter part contains anything of interest.

       Speculation is growing that the body is that of missing backpacker Brandon Wells, last seen in August 1994. Sources within the investigation have confirmed that this is a viable line of inquiry and they are currently in touch with police in his home country of New Zealand.

      I scroll down to see further results. BBC South East has a clip.

      The same journalist as before stands on the same spot on the Downs. Behind him, the ridge of the hill glows yellow. The shot pans down to a small copse. Yellow tape flutters at the edge of the trees and, just visible through the trunks, is a white tent.

       Police have refused to rule out that the body found is that of missing backpacker Brandon Wells, last seen in 1994. Locals may remember his parents coming over from New Zealand and putting pressure on the police to launch an investigation. However, it must be emphasised that these are early stages in the investigation and DNA tests will be required before continuing this line of inquiry.

      I put down the phone.

      Nineteen ninety-four. Twenty-three years ago. Brandon Wells. Guildford.

      It won’t be long now.

       It’s him. Better get your story straight.

       Chapter 11

       1994 – Guildford

      Julia spent the entire weekend in Guildford, alone. Genevieve had disappeared with a man, whom she briefly introduced to Julia as Edward. The elusive Alan was yet to return, and Lucy would be working in the Netherlands for the next fortnight.

      Monday morning’s seven o’clock alarm came as a blessing. Julia was better suited to work than solitude.

      With only one cup of coffee inside her and wearing a new suit and crisply pressed blouse, Julia headed out of the house, her desire for company overcoming her first-day nerves.

      ‘A word please, Julia,’ Genevieve called, as she was halfway through the front door.

      Dressed in emerald silk pyjamas and with a full face of make-up, she struck an incongruous figure in the grey morning light.

      ‘It’s my first day, Genevieve. I don’t want to be late.’

      ‘I shan’t keep you a moment,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind today, but in future could you use the side door – the silver key on the fob I gave you. It takes you through the garage and into the kitchen. The hallway gets so mucky with all you young people coming in and out.’

      ‘You want me to use the tradesmen’s entrance?’

      ‘The side door,’ Genevieve said. ‘Alan and Lucy don’t mind.’

      She gave a little tinkling laugh, which sounded false and forced. Was she drunk? It was eight in the morning. Julia remembered Lucy’s wry smile when she’d said, ‘She’s fond of—’ Booze, was that what she had been going to say? Audrey had accused Genevieve of being a pothead, but it seemed she was just a common or garden lush. Julia didn’t have the time to argue.

      ‘Fine. I’ll use the side door,’ she said.

      Genevieve came out onto the step as Julia walked up the drive.

      ‘Do enjoy your day,’ she said brightly.

      The position at Morgan Boyd Consulting had been a sideways move. Julia had more experience than her manager expected, and she handled her workload with ease. The other two graduates, Bee and Fraser, asked her advice on several points, and later invited her out for drinks at a wine bar in the town centre, where they shared a meat platter, downed a couple of bottles of wine and filled her in on the office gossip.

      Fraser then started mimicking their boss Jim’s obscenity-ridden outbursts. To the office in general, ‘What did I fucking do to deserve having to work with such a bunch of fucking incompetent fucks?’ To his PA, Penelope, when she forgot his wife’s birthday, ‘I should just sack you and get some useless tart from Office Angels – at least she’d be easy on the eye.’

      ‘How does she put up with it?’ Julia asked.

      ‘Fraser reckons she’s in love with Jim,’ Bee said.

      ‘No way.’

      ‘Jim’s an ugly tosser, but who else has she got to fantasise about? Middle-aged, divorced, her kids have left home.’ Fraser counted off Penelope’s deficiencies on his fingers. ‘She probably hasn’t had it in years. It’s sad, the way she’s always angling for invitations to the pub.’

      ‘Maybe she’s just lonely,’ Julia said.

      ‘Then she should find people her own age to hang out with,’ Fraser said. ‘What would we have to talk about – knitting, Songs of Praise?’

      ‘You know who you really should seduce, Fraser, and do us all a favour?’ Bee said. ‘Jim’s wife. I’m sure she had her eye on you at the Christmas party. A toy boy would keep her happy, which would keep Jim happy, which would get him off our backs.’

      ‘Suddenly Penelope’s not such a bad prospect,’ Fraser said. ‘What about you, Julia – do you have a boyfriend, girlfriend, crush?’

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘No one.’

      ‘There must be somebody,’ Bee said.

      Julia thought of Christian. Most likely he was wrapped in Ellie’s arms right at that very moment. She downed her wine and made her excuses.

      She stumbled back to Downsview Villa at around eleven. Remembering to use the side door, and without turning on the light, she crept through the garage and into the kitchen and hall where the streetlamps provided just enough illumination to see the stairs. As she neared the top, a shard of light fell across the landing. A door opened, and a man stood silhouetted in its frame. Genevieve came out and pulled it shut behind her. The landing fell dark again. She turned and started to ascend the stairs to the attic rooms, then stopped.

      ‘Who’s that?’

      ‘It’s only me,’ Julia said.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Julia, Genevieve. It’s Julia.’

      She continued to the landing and switched on the light. Genevieve’s face was wet with tears.

      ‘What’s happened?’ Julia asked.

      Genevieve moved towards her, holding her arms straight out in front, as if bracing for a fall. At the last moment she wrapped them around Julia, placed her head on Julia’s shoulder and started to sob.

      ‘Genevieve?’

      She made no response. Julia looked to the door, from which Genevieve had come. It was only a few feet away. The occupant must be able to hear her crying. A little drunk and unsure what to do, Julia decided it best to lead Genevieve to her bedroom and sit her on the bed.

      ‘Has something happened, Genevieve?’

      ‘No. Nothing. I know people think I’m …’

      Her voice was weak and fractured.

      ‘Think you’re …?’ Julia prompted.

      ‘Alan was quite horrible. He doesn’t understand.’

      ‘Understand what?’

      ‘Is it so bad for a woman my age to enjoy the company of younger men?’

      Julia’s thoughts were fuzzy. She wished she’d said no to the second bottle of wine.

      ‘I … err … you mean …’

      ‘It’s