She had never posted it.

The phone rang for a long time before Cat answered.

“It’s Jane.”

“Sorry, I was upstairs with Chris.”

“That’s why I’m ringing. How are things?”

Cat sighed. “Hang on, let me sit down. I’m so glad you rang.”

“Good, but you will always say if it’s a bad time or you can’t cope with talking about it, won’t you? I don’t want to intrude.”

“You absolutely do not. But yes, I will always say. He’s feeling pretty bad c his mood swings are quite strong and he sleeps a lot. He’s on massive medication of course and he’s had three radiotherapy treatments.”

“Any help?”

“Hard to say yet. I have my doubts.”

“Have you told the children?”

“Oh yes. As much as I can. Sam understands c he’s very quiet about it. But he sidles up to me and hangs about rather a lot. Hannah—I don’t know. She’s such a bouncy little thing, I’m not sure she’s taken it in. I can’t tell them he’s going to die, Jane c I’ve said I’m not sure if he’s going to be well but that isn’t the same. Sam looks at me. I know what he’s thinking. Felix is too young of course, though he notices that he can’t crash about all over Chris as usual. I have to keep him away, he’s so boisterous. Dad has been here today. Blunt as ever. Judith didn’t come, she’s gone to Edinburgh for a few days to see her daughter. I could have done with her, she takes the edge off Dad. But Simon came and he’s the one person who has the knack with Chris c nothing fazes him. They just talk. He can say anything and Chris takes it.”

“I just saw him on the news.”

“I missed it—Chris needed a sick bowl. How was Si?”

“Very professional. Grim.”

“They’re in a mess. They haven’t a clue, Jane, this guy’s running rings round them. Have you been in touch with him?”

“No.”

“I think he’d like it.”

“I’ll see. Maybe when they’ve got this one cracked.”

“That might be never. How’s Cambridge?”

“Wonderful. Love it. Love everything. It’s right, Cat c I just want it to stay right. I’ve made too many mistakes.”

“Not your fault.”

“Whose then?”

“I have to go, Chris is calling. Ring me again. I’ll need you.”

Jane went to the window and opened it. The air smelled moist and earthy. One or two lights were on but it was almost silent.

She could not get Simon out of her mind. His face on the television screen. His face as she had looked up and directly into it at Karin’s funeral. His face all that time ago as he had told her he wanted to see more of her, as he had sat in her kitchen in the Lafferton bungalow after supper.

But she had fled a long way across the country, to get away from him, to start a new life. She wanted that new life. It felt right. She did not want to go through her days with the image of Simon Serrailler hovering at the back of her mind.

Fifty-four

“This is bloody ridiculous,” Clive Rowley said. “This is the sort of thing the public complains about. If the media gets hold of this—”

“Belt up, would you?”

“I’m saying, they’ve every right to ask questions. I’m asking questions, you should be asking questions.”

“Well, I’m not. OK, let’s head round onto the Starly Road, see who we can catch using their mobile while driving.”

Clive snorted. They were on traffic.

“Not like the old days then,” Liam said.

“Bloody isn’t. I mean, we’re highly trained firearms officers, what are we doing doubling up as traffic?”

“Resources.”

“Plenty of money when they have to find a load of it to look after the bloody royals.”

“To be fair, not all of that’s down to our force and it’s only the once.”

“No it’s not, it’s every time we have one of them opening this or unveiling that.”

“I heard the wedding counted as private so they paid for their own policing.”

“Yeah, right.”

“God, you’re a cynic, Clive.”

“No, I just want to be doing the job I was trained to do. With an armed lunatic running round, you’d think it would dawn on them we ought to be on permanent standby.”

“Playing cards, you mean. That one looks dodgy c bet he hasn’t got insurance—look at him.”

“Stop him?”

“Why not? Doesn’t look safe to be on the road.” Liam switched on the lights and warning siren and speeded up to get in front of the boy driving an ancient resprayed Fiesta. “OK, laddo, let’s be having you.”

They slewed to a halt in a lay-by and got out. As they walked towards the Fiesta, a motorbike shot by going so fast the tarmac smoked in its wake.

“Come on, come on,” Clive Rowley said, “let’s get after him.”

Liam shook his head. “He’ll be long gone.” He spoke into his radio, giving their location and reporting the speeding bike, then politely asked the boy, who looked no more than fourteen, to get out of the Fiesta for him.

On the outskirts of Starly, a patrol car returning from inter viewing a shopkeeper about the theft of some stock came up behind a motorbike, forced to slow down at a traffic hold-up, and revving impatiently. As all motorcyclists were currently under greater scrutiny than usual, they pulled him in.

Ten minutes later, a DC put her head round Simon Serrailler’s office.

“Guv? Someone’s bringing in Craig Drew’s father.”

“What for?”

“Doing eighty in a fifty limit.”

“What’s that got to do with us?”

“He was riding a black Yamaha motorbike.”

Simon went back to his screen but he had lost track of what he was doing. Motorbikes. Craig Drew’s father. The wedding.

He called the team into the conference room.

“Motorbikes. It’s thin, to be frank, but it’s our first definite line of inquiry. Black Yamaha motorbike, 1,000cc probably.” He wrote on the whiteboard. “I want a check on how many of these are registered to the area, excluding our own bikes obviously c anyone with the slightest link to any of the gunman’s victims, log it, copy everyone in, put it up here. When you’ve got a connection, if you get one, think, think, think. We’ll interview but”—he tapped his forehead—” make this work. What’s the connection, is it coincidence, is there any personal history, firearms? Anything.”

“Is this just Lafferton, guv?”

“For the moment. The rings will spread outwards. He hasn’t come from far—we won’t be looking on the other side of the county. This is a local man, local knowledge—I’d be surprised if he comes from as far as Bevham. Now, funerals. You know the theory—the killer likes to see the job finished so he sometimes goes so far as to attend the funeral of his victims. The bodies of Melanie Drew, Bethan Doyle and the girls who were killed outside the nightclub are being released on Friday. Once we have funeral details, we’ll mount a discreet presence at each one. ARV will park up nearby. We’re taking no chances. We’ll have uniform in the cemeteries or the crematorium and outside the churches c in any case, there’ll be an official police presence at each one. But I want CID mingling with the mourners in the pews and at the gravesides, at the wakes if they have them c everywhere. Looking and listening. Detail, detail, detail c connections, connections. And motorbikes first. Thanks.”

A mile away from the station, in the Dean’s office at Lafferton Cathedral, the Chief Constable, Paula Devenish, was in reassurance mode.

“All leave is cancelled. The cathedral, the grounds and the close will be sealed off from the Friday morning—only those with photo ID and passes will be allowed anywhere near. Two armed response vehicles will be on standby and officers from two others will be in position from five a.m. on the Saturday morning.” She nodded to the AR Gold Command.

“The sniffer dogs will go into the cathedral twice, on the Friday morning and again on the Saturday. They will also go over every delivery as well as the flowers. We know our job and we’ll do it. Please trust us on this.”