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  His expression didn’t change. ‘If I knew of a reason for her being away, I wouldn’t be looking.’

  So that’s a ‘no’, then. ‘If Gemma deleted those files, should you be planning a raid on them?’ she said. She was beginning to understand that Gemma must have personal reasons for going away and that Luke knew more than he was telling her. She wasn’t prepared to be the patsy in whatever complicated game he and Gemma were playing. He smiled at her and waited. You haven’t thought it through, Bishop. ‘You’ve already looked,’ she said.

  ‘It’s no problem getting deleted files back,’ he said. ‘But…someone’s taken a bit of trouble here – all I’m getting is gibberish.’

  So Gemma had done more that just issue a delete instruction. ‘Can’t you get them back at all?’

  ‘If I…I don’t know. Probably not. Not from something like this.’ He frowned, looking into space, thinking. ‘I don’t think Gemma could have done it. She could have wiped her hard disk, no problem. She knows how to do that…’ Roz reflected that she herself had managed to achieve just that, once, without either meaning to or knowing exactly what she’d done. ‘But she’d have needed a bit more for this.’

  Roz thought about it. She wondered how she would tackle the problem if she wanted to take stuff off her hard disk in such a way that it was permanently removed. You couldn’t work in her field without knowing how easily such files could be retrieved. If she wanted to do it, she’d probably ask Luke. But if she didn’t want Luke to know…She thought she might have been able to come up with some kind of a solution. She just wouldn’t be 100 per cent confident that the files would be permanently deleted. And that, presumably, wouldn’t be too difficult to find out. ‘Gemma could have done it,’ she said.

  Luke shrugged. He clearly thought she was wrong. He shut the machine down and stood up. ‘I’m going into the department,’ he said. ‘I’m going to look on her PC there.’

  The Arts Tower was quiet on a Sunday. Students were using the library, and people were riding the paternoster – a university never really closes down – but the milling crowds of weekdays, of lecture and seminar days, weren’t there. They rode up in the paternoster in silence. N floor was deserted, the lights out, the corridors dim and empty. Luke led the way to Gemma’s room and used his master key to open it. Roz looked round. Everything was as neat and ordered as it had been on Friday. She remembered being in here, looking for Gemma’s draft report. She realized the significance of that as Luke switched the computer on, and felt a relief she couldn’t quite account for. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten. I looked up one of Gemma’s files on Friday. There was a report she had to get in. Everything’s there. Or at least the files I was looking for were there. I…’ Her voice trailed off as she looked over Luke’s shoulder. The computer was flashing a message at them, white letters on a black screen: error, error, error.

  Luke looked at her. ‘It may have been here on Friday,’ he said, ‘but it isn’t now. It’s been wiped.’

  Roz pushed her hair back from her face and shook her head. ‘I can’t think of anywhere else to look,’ she said. Whoever had wiped Gemma’s machine, they’d done a thorough job. The painstaking removal of files from her home computer would have taken a bit of time. Here, the hard disk had been reformatted. Everything was gone.

  Roz and Luke had gone through the desk and the filing cabinets in Gemma’s room, checked the shelves, the window sill, the pockets of the lab coat that hung on the back of the door. Roz wondered why it was there. She’d never seen Gemma wear it. They were looking for Gemma’s back-up disks. Luke straightened up from the filing cabinet, and for a moment, his face was unguarded. He looked anxious, confused, and there were lines of tension around his mouth and eyes. He saw she was watching him, and made an attempt at a smile. ‘What’s the point in wiping the computer and leaving the back-ups?’ he said. ‘They’re not here.’

  ‘Whoever did it might not have known…’ Roz was still hoping the back-up disks that Gemma should have kept would turn up. Maybe they’d missed something. She turned back to the desk.

  ‘They aren’t here, Roz. Stop wasting time.’ He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and looked round the room, his face angry now. ‘I told her we needed an automatic back-up system.’

  ‘Who?’ Roz pushed the desk drawer shut. He was right. There was nothing here. They’d looked everywhere. She pushed her glasses back up her nose, then, irritated by them, she took them off.

  ‘Grey. I told Grey.’ He ran his hand through his hair and moved restlessly round the small room. Roz pulled open the top drawer of the filing cabinet. She didn’t want to admit he was right.

  ‘You think Gemma did this? Came back yesterday and wiped everything off her machine?’

  He reached past her and slammed the filing cabinet drawer shut. ‘How the fuck should I know?’

  The anger in his tone froze her. She knew that Luke could be volatile, but she’d never seen that sudden rage in him before. She stepped back, moving away from the filing cabinet, wanting to put some distance between them. She tried another question, tried to keep her voice normal. ‘Why the blitz job on the hard disk here? Why did…whoever…wipe the whole disk, and just do the files on the other machine?’

  He didn’t look at her, kept his hand on the filing cabinet. ‘I don’t know, Roz.’ His voice was tightly controlled. ‘Work it out for yourself.’

  She looked at his rigid stance. Suddenly, it was like stepping back two years and seeing Nathan’s confusion transform into fury. Then, the only thing to do had been to get out of the way, fast. Until the night she hadn’t made it. She had been woken up by the sound of him moving round the house, the confused stumbling, and had got up as she had done before. And he had been there at the top of the stairs, his face twisted with anger and panic. She could still see his face, his arm drawn back. Then his fist had slammed into the side of her head, her hand had grabbed at the banister rail in a futile attempt to save herself in the frozen moment of her fall before the pain and the fear hit.

  She couldn’t deal with Luke like this. ‘I’ll be in my room,’ she said, after a moment.

  He didn’t look at her. ‘OK.’

  She walked along the empty corridor past the stairwell, her footsteps echoing on the lino. A security light was a red glow on the ceiling, and light from the lobby cast a faint gleam at the end of the corridor. Roz went towards her room, trying to think the situation through. Her mind was dividing down two paths: one, the main one, was concern for Gemma, a feeling of queasy uncertainty that told her something was wrong. Luke said he’d been in touch with the police, and that they hadn’t been concerned, but that was before the discovery of the missing files. Or would the police say that showed Gemma had meant to leave, that she had wiped all her files because…because what? Because she had something to hide?

  That was the second strand of Roz’s concern. If Gemma had gone deliberately, the implications for the group could be serious. Roz closed the door of her room, and leant against it. The silence closed round her. She needed some time to think, and, she realized, she needed to contact Joanna. Joanna had to know. She dialled Joanna’s number, but got the answering service. She hung up. She’d better plan what she was going to say. She pushed a pile of papers out of the way to reach her notepad and a pen. The papers were her Monday’s to-do pile. The various tasks snagged her mind, and she leafed through the stuff as she tried to work out what, exactly, to say to Joanna.

  That reminded her about the draft report for DI Jordan. Gemma needed to complete it and send it off. But Gemma wouldn’t be there. Suddenly, she was sure of that. Whatever had happened, Gemma would not be back soon, maybe not at all. Roz would have to check that report, phone the rather brusque DI Jordan and explain why it was being delayed for another day. She remembered Joanna’s ebullience on Friday. She dreaded telling her.

  A disk that had been concealed in the pile of papers slipped out and fell to the floor. She frowned as she picked it u
p. She was very careful not to leave disks lying around, careful to keep them filed and classified where they could be found as soon as they were wanted. She must have been distracted on Friday. She picked it up to see what it was. No label. That was odd. She never, never, put anything on a disk without labelling it. It must be someone else’s, but who would leave this in her office?

  Then she remembered Gemma in her room on Wednesday, fumbling nervously and dropping her bag on to the desk. It must have fallen out of the bag, and Gemma hadn’t noticed. She picked up the phone to call Gemma’s extension, tell Luke what she’d found, but then she put it down. Better see what she’d got first. Gemma must have been planning to take the disk with her. She put it into her machine, ran it through the virus scan, and opened it.

  There were three files: JPG files, pictures. The file names weren’t very helpful – AE1, AE2, AE3. Roz was disappointed. She didn’t want pictures, she wanted some of Gemma’s work files. She double-clicked on one and watched the picture form on the screen.

  At first, her mind wouldn’t process the image. Then she was…what? Shocked? Embarrassed? Amused? No wonder Gemma kept these in her bag, not lying around the department. It was a picture of a woman – of Gemma – naked, sitting on a patterned quilt with her knees drawn up and her arms resting on them. She was looking over the top of her arms, straight at the camera. Her eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter. Her legs, below the drawn-up knees, were parted, exposing her to the camera’s eye.

  She opened the next file, not knowing if she should, or if she wanted to. Gemma, standing this time, her wrists held above her with a rope that was stretched painfully tight, pulling her up so that she was standing on tiptoe. Her eyes looked directly out of the screen, challenging and inviting. The third file showed Gemma on a bed with her hands tied again and again pulled above her head. Her knees were bent and her legs were splayed. She was wearing a basque that was laced so tightly it bit into the flesh. The background was dark and shadowy. Roz sat in silence. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t understand why the pictures were stored on the disk. Why would Gemma be carrying them around in her bag? Who did she plan to show them to?

  Hands touched her shoulders and she jumped. She swung round, and Luke was behind her. Her heart hammered in her throat and for a moment she felt sick. ‘Luke! Shit! You scared the life out of me!’ She tried to catch her breath.

  ‘What have you got there, Roz?’ His voice was quiet and even. He didn’t apologize for startling her.

  ‘It’s…’ Her voice sounded artificial, and before she could think what to say, his hand was on the mouse and he ran through the other files. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then he closed them and took the disk out of the drive.

  ‘Gemma’s, I think,’ he said.

  ‘Luke…’ She didn’t know what to say.

  ‘It’s OK.’ His voice was carefully empty of expression. ‘We took those a couple of months ago. They were just photographs.’

  That was true. They were just photographs. But Roz felt angry with Luke. She wished she hadn’t seen them – or wished, at least, that it hadn’t been him who had taken them. Gemma had put them on a disk and was taking them somewhere. Why? She looked at Luke, who was holding the disk between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes narrowed in thought.

  ‘It’s none of my business,’ she said. She could hear her voice sounding cold. ‘I thought…’ What? What had she thought? That the files would contain some explanation for Gemma’s disappearance?

  He met her eyes. He seemed distracted, as though he was thinking about something else. ‘No, no problem.’ His voice was detached, that flash of anger in his office gone as fast as it had come. He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Well, you know something you didn’t know before.’

  She knew that she didn’t know Luke as well as she had thought. She felt as though she didn’t know him at all.

  Snake Pass, Sunday morning

  As Sunday dawned over the Pennines, it became a fine winter’s day. The sky was cloudless blue and the air was still. The temperature had dropped, and the ground glittered with frost. It was a day to bring the walkers out, and Keith Strong had decided to get ahead of the rush and make an early start. He knew the Peak well – he worked as a part-time ranger, keeping an eye on visitors to the park, offering a helping hand, getting walkers out of difficulty, taking part in rescues when things went drastically wrong. In the Peak, rescues usually meant someone had been stupid – tried to walk the path up Mam Tor, the shivering mountain, in high-heeled sandals (really, he’d seen it), gone on the tops in bad weather without the right equipment, gone climbing on the edges without safety gear. Today, he wasn’t working; he was out just to enjoy the countryside. His mate, Tony, was driving over to Manchester first thing, and Keith had persuaded him to go via the Snake and drop Keith off at Doctor’s Gate. He planned to take the path up Devil’s Dyke, following the route of the Pennine Way, and walk across to the Flouch Inn. It was a long walk and a hard one, but the weather was right, and he needed a day out. It would do Candy good as well.

  Tony dropped him on the straight stretch of road before Doctor’s Gate. ‘I’m not stopping on that bend,’ he said. Keith raised his hand in thanks as Tony drove off, shouldered his rucksack and set off up the hill towards the culvert. He kept Candy on the lead for the road bit. She was obedient – all his dogs were well trained – but she was young, and she was excited and full of energy. It wasn’t worth the risk. She pulled at the lead and he spoke firmly to her, but he let her pull again as the hill got steeper. It made carrying his rucksack up that incline just a bit easier. As soon as they reached the culvert and crossed the road, he let Candy off the lead and she ran ahead up the dyke, sniffing eagerly, dancing with enjoyment. Keith reflected, not for the first time, that it was much easier to make a dog happy than a woman.

  He let Candy explore. There were sheep, and at this time of year they could be in lamb, but Candy knew better than to chase them. He sat down on a rock to tighten the laces on his boots and put on his gaiters. Frost or not, it could be muddy up on the tops. He noticed the car with the half awareness of distraction – he was planning his route – and then with annoyance. Its red intruded on the landscape, and, anyway, it shouldn’t have been there. He thought that people who couldn’t manage to make their way here without a car should walk somewhere else. He knew he was being inconsistent, and that irritated him more.

  He thought that the car was parked a bit oddly. He called Candy back, and she came bounding down the path with a piece of heather root in her mouth which she laid at his feet, looking at him expectantly. ‘Leave!’ he said, as he walked towards the car. It was pulled right in, close to the rocks. Getting it in there must have damaged it – Keith couldn’t see any way that careless parking would have brought it so far in. He checked the front and back. The number plates had been removed. Right. It was probably stolen, then. Joyriders? It seemed unlikely they’d go to the trouble of half hiding a car up here. Maybe it had been used in a burglary, a get-away car or something. The idea quite appealed to him.

  Candy was exploring, her heather root forgotten. She was round the passenger side, sniffing at the wheel, her tail up and her ears perked with interest. Then she froze, her ears forward, her eyes intent. Her tail was down now, cautious, as she lowered herself in stalking mode and peered under the car. She was making little whining noises in her throat. Keith got hold of her collar and hauled her back. ‘Daft dog. You’ll get covered in oil under there.’ Candy looked up at him, and moved round to the other side of the car, still low to the ground, still cautious. Keith followed her, interested now. She moved slowly up to the driver’s door, her nose testing the air, the whines turning to low growls. She pressed her nose against dark stains that had splashed the sill. She scratched at the door, whimpering.

  The driver’s door was hard to reach because the car was parked up against the rock. Keith tried the handle, and the door opened a short way. A smell like – he couldn’t quite find the compar
ison – like a city alleyway, like a…It was the smell of sweat and the geriatric ward, the ward where his mother had died, the smell of ammonia and decay. The smell made him step back and Candy jumped straight in, and began burrowing in the foot-well. Keith grabbed the thick hair on her hindquarters and hauled her out. She squealed. There were dark stains round her muzzle. It was hard to see the inside of the car, but they looked like the same dark stains that were on the dashboard and on the steering wheel, with smudges on the seat and, now he came to look, on the windows. It reminded him of the thick, black mud from the bogs and stagnant pools of Cold-harbour Moor up on the tops. Had someone fallen in, come back to the car to clean up and change?

  He went back round to the passenger side and tried that door. It opened. He snapped a command at Candy who was trying to get past him again into the car, and looked round the interior. The glove compartment was hanging open and empty. There was nothing in the car itself. He touched the driver’s seat. It was damp. He checked the boot. It was locked. He shut the car door and scratched his head. He’d better call in, report this to someone. But the hills on either side were blocking the signal to his phone. He’d need to walk right up the path before he was high enough above the rock faces and the steep sides of the dyke, and the signal came back. He set off, whistling for Candy to follow. She raced past him, leaping over the rocks, stopping to look back at him, her mouth open and her tongue hanging out. It was half an hour before he reached the top, breathing hard after the steep climb, feeling his boots heavy with the dark peaty mud that clung to them. Candy was worrying a stick now, her energy undiminished.

  He checked his map and took a compass bearing, more to keep his hand in than because he needed to. A kestrel circled in the sky above him. Then he headed off across the hills with Candy bounding ahead, detouring off the path into the heather, disappearing from view and waiting for him to catch up. It was a beautiful day for a walk.