Then she broke down, weeping loudly, swaying on her feet. Her father held her, supporting her. She broke free of him. She looked at Ben with hate and disgust in her eyes. ‘You’re a fucking murderer!’ she screamed at him. She spat in his face. Slapped him hard across the cheek.

He turned away from her. His cheek was stinging. He looked down at his feet. He could feel all their eyes on him. Two nurses had come running when they heard the raised voices. They stood staring, frozen in alarm.

Rhonda was bent double, racked with sobbing, shoulders heaving. Her mother put her arms around her. ‘Come on, darling. Let’s go.’ They turned to leave. Rhonda’s father shot Ben a last look of venom as he pushed past the nurses.

Her mother hovered in the doorway, clutching her daughter tight in her arms. She turned and looked Ben in the eye. ‘God damn you,’ she said, ‘if you can live with this on your conscience.’

Paxos

The same day, 8 a.m.

Just over thirty miles away on the island of Paxos, the fair-haired man called Hudson was sitting at a table in the empty house by the beach. The woman, Kaplan, was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder as they both stared intently at the laptop screen in front of them.

The digital video image was as crisp as it had looked through the lens when they’d filmed the scene from the apartment window the previous day. The camera was zoomed in on the two men sitting at the table near the edge of the terrace. For now, they were calling them Number One and Number Two. Number One was the man they’d been monitoring after he’d started asking questions about Zoë Bradbury. Number Two was the man who’d unexpectedly come to join him. They knew less about him, and that bothered them.

What bothered them more, in the aftermath of the bombing, was that he was still alive. It was what was keeping them here, when they should be packing up this job and heading for home.

On screen, the conversation was intense. Then the child with the ball appeared. After a moment one of the two men jumped up from his chair and ran out into the road. Seconds later, the café terrace was engulfed with flames.

‘Pause it,’ Kaplan said.

Hudson tapped a key. On screen, the unfolding fireball and flying debris stood still, sudden terror frozen on the faces of the victims caught in the blast.

‘Scroll it to the left,’ she said.

He held down another key and the image panned across. The green delivery van was slewed at an angle in the road. The other side of it, the man who had leapt from the café terrace was sprawled on the ground, shielding the child.

She watched him thoughtfully, pressing a finger to her lips in concentration. ‘Did he know something?’ she said. ‘Did he see it coming?’

‘Doesn’t look like it to me,’ Hudson said. ‘He ran out to save the kid. A second later, he’d have been caught up in it too.’

‘What if he saw Herzog? What if he remembers him? He’s a witness.’

‘No way. It was just chance. He had no idea what was coming.’

She frowned. ‘Maybe. Go back. OK, stop. Replay.’

‘We’ve been through this a hundred times,’ Hudson said.

‘I want to know who this guy is. I get a bad feeling about him.’

They watched and listened again. The sound was scratchy and filled with background sound – jumbled conversation from other tables and passers-by, traffic, general white noise.

‘The sound is shit,’ Kaplan muttered.

‘Yeah, well, we didn’t exactly get much time to prepare,’ Hudson said. ‘If I hadn’t thought to bring the stuff just in case, we wouldn’t even be listening to this conversation at all.’

‘Just shut up and let the damn thing play.’

He went quiet. Kaplan was in charge, and he already knew she could be pretty mean if he pushed it too far.

‘Pause,’ she said. ‘Did you hear that? He mentioned her name again. Go back.’

He rewound the image a few frames. ‘It’s hard to be sure.’

‘I’m sure. Turn up the volume,’ she said. ‘Can you clean it up any more?’

‘I’ve cleaned it up all I can,’ Hudson replied irritably. He’d been up most of night working on it, painstakingly whittling away as many unwanted frequencies as he could isolate. ‘I’ll need a few more hours to get the best out of it.’

‘If you could get that fucking kid out of it,’ she said, ‘I’ll be happy.’ The percussive tap – tap – tap of the child’s bouncing ball each time he came into the range of the mike was cutting out a lot of the precious conversation and driving her crazy.

Hudson restarted the playback and they listened carefully.

‘There it is,’ she said. ‘Bradbury. Comes out clearly now.’

‘Yup. Definitely Bradbury.’

‘Shit. OK, let it play on.’ The video played on a few more seconds. She focused hard on the sound, closing her eyes. Then she opened them, and her jaw tightened. ‘Stop. Cleaver. He said “Cleaver”.’

Hudson was annoyed he hadn’t picked up on it before. ‘Copy. What did he say about him?’

‘Run it back. Slow it down.’

They listened to the hissy, muffled recording again. ‘I think he’s saying “where is Cleaver?”,’ she said. ‘That’s what it sounds like to me.’

‘But how could he know about Cleaver?’

‘Means he’s been talking to Bradbury. Means he’s in on it.’

‘Or he just saw it in the address book.’

‘Either way,’ she said, ‘that isn’t something we want him to know.’

They watched more. On screen, Number One unfolded the newspaper and leaned across the café table to show it to Number Two.

Kaplan reached for the copy of the same paper on the desk. Followed Number Two’s gaze down the front page. She nodded. He was definitely looking at the report on Nikos Karapiperis’ death.

Then the child came into the frame, his ball went out into the road, and they watched again as Number Two leaped out to save him. Then the explosion burst across the terrace all over again.

‘You can shut it down now. I’ve seen enough,’ Kaplan said.

‘Fucking baby-saving hero,’ Hudson muttered.

Kaplan started pacing up and down. ‘Put it all together. They knew everything. Bradbury, the money, Cleaver, Nikos Karapiperis. And Number One knew we were tailing him.’

Hudson swivelled round in his chair to face her. ‘How did he know that?’ The screen went black as the laptop shut down.

Kaplan shook her head. ‘He wasn’t just some friend of the family. This is a professional at work. No way anyone could have spotted us otherwise.’

‘So who are these people? Who are they working for?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You think they know where Bradbury put it?’

‘I’m going to have to call this in,’ she said. ‘I don’t like either of them. And I don’t like that Number Two is still around.’

She walked to another room, where she could speak in private, and dialled the number. It was a long-distance call. The same man’s voice answered.

‘We might have another problem,’ she told him. She explained the situation quickly.

‘How much does he know?’ the man asked.

‘Enough. About the money, and about Cleaver. And about us. And maybe more.’

There was a long silence. ‘This is already getting messy.’

‘We’ll deal with it.’

‘You’d better. Get me names. Find out everything he knows. Then take care of him. Do it properly and quietly. Don’t make me have to call Herzog in on this again. He’s too damn expensive.’

When the call was over, Kaplan went back to the other room. ‘Let’s go,’ she said.