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‘I'd say that gives us, say, fifteen minutes of red hot sex, and we can be back here in time for the food.'

Almost before she had finished talking, Flynn swooped across and took her hand, and the caveman who lurked very close to his otherwise sophisticated modern man surface almost dragged her to her feet. ‘Best get a move on, then.'

By the time Henry arrived back at the Tawny Owl it was eleven p.m. He had called ahead to tell them he was running late so no one was remotely worried by his absence, but when he entered the bar all the customers turned with their drinks in hand, raised them to him and gave him a huge cheer. Donaldson was behind the bar with Alison and Ginny, serving on.

Henry took a regal bow.

Once he had shouldered his way through the throng and placed all the documents he had brought with him from work on the floor just inside the door leading to the private accommodation, he went to the bar where a drink was waiting for him, plus a meal consisting of a plate meat pie, chips, peas and gravy, which he carried over to a vacant table by the bow window. He was famished and the prospect of early hours indigestion did not put him off eating.

Alison came to sit with him.

‘How has it gone, honey?' he asked.

‘These people are amazing,' she said, looking at the customers. ‘Drunk now, but amazing.'

‘They are. You're very lucky. Not many communities like this any more.'

‘You're part of it now, you know? Especially after the free drinks offer which, to a man, was taken up.'

‘Cheaper than hiring Group Four.'

‘What the hell d'you guys think you're playing at?' Donaldson scolded them. ‘A sniper's dream, sitting next to a window. You'd get taken out in a doggone moment.' He drew the curtains and sat next to them.

‘I've given Karl one of the guest rooms,' Alison said.

‘Good idea.'

‘Once we've locked up for the night, we should be OK.'

‘I would have thought so … there will still be a few patrols passing occasionally and the place is very secure.'

Alison said, ‘Have you found him yet, do you have any leads?'

‘To be honest, no, but his face is all over the media and ports and airports, so he'll either get caught trying to leave the country – unless he is in disguise and has a false passport – or he'll keep his head down until it all dies down a bit, then he'll flee. He knows he's frightened us both, so he might well leave it at that.' Henry tried to sound convincing.

Alison saw his expression. ‘Nice try, big boy. If he's going to come, he'll find a way, won't he?'

‘He can try, but he is on the run now,' Donaldson said.

‘I'll be applying for an arrest warrant for him tomorrow and Karl and I will sort out the American angle so if he turns up across the water he can be arrested, then extradited. He's screwed, love, but yeah, we have to be honest, he could well be nuts enough to give it a go.'

Alison nodded as she took this in. Her chest rose and fell.

‘OK,' she said and stood up. ‘I'll go and see what the guys want.' She went back to the bar.

‘Not happy,' Donaldson said.

‘Understatement.'

‘So – what's happened tonight?'

‘Looks like Archie's murder has been solved, and it doesn't have a link to Percy's,' Henry began, and filled Donaldson in with the details whilst shovelling his meal into his mouth, washing it down with the Stella. ‘And there's something else … just wait here.'

The food and drink were finished, so Henry took the plate to the bar and held out his pint for a refill. Whilst this was being done he went to the pile of documents from the corridor and returned with a receipt book, collected the fresh beer and went back to Donaldson, handing him the book as he took a seat. Henry explained it was used in Percy's jewellery shop in Blackpool as a record of all sales transactions.

Donaldson opened it, pouting. ‘Are we going to do this the hard way or the easy way?'

‘Look up two dates, twelfth February first, then twenty-second June, both this year.' Henry sipped the beer.

Donaldson flicked backwards and forwards through the pages. Each one was divided into four tear-out receipts with carbon copies under the originals. The copies were what remained in the books, the top copies having been torn out and handed to the customer. The copies were clear and legible.

‘Twelfth of Feb … ruary,' Donaldson said slowly, finding the page. His eyes widened. ‘Get the fuck out!' he exclaimed, looking sharply at Henry, who looked quite smug.

‘Now twenty-second June.'

Donaldson's big fingers scrambled through the pages until he found that date.

This time he whispered, ‘Get the fuck out,' in awe.

Henry grinned. ‘I like coincidences. They make me happy – although I don't know if there is any relevance to them in this case.'

‘So the nasty crippled guy, Liam Costain, bought two lots of jewellery from Percy's shop on two separate dates this year, spent over four grand?'

‘Looks that way.'

‘Also looks as though Mr Wheelchair Man is going to get a revisit from you very soon.'

‘Looks that way,' Henry said and took another mouthful of beer.

As it happened, Flynn and Karen had to reorder paella and pay for the previous one, which was cold by the time they returned to the bar, flushed and very happy from their lovemaking in the stateroom of
Faye
. Rather than the estimated fifteen minutes, they took an hour, and sauntered back to the bar arm in arm, clutching each other.

As they ate the beautiful dish and sipped some very chilled white wine, mostly in a contented silence, both enjoying a bit of post-coital bliss and the warm night drawing in, Karen surprised Flynn by asking, ‘Do you want to check out the villa they took you to?'

‘I wouldn't mind, but I don't have transport because the cops still have the Patrol.'

‘Let's drive up in mine. They won't know it, will they? You could at least see if someone is still there.'

‘You sure?' He looked quizzically at her.

‘Yeah … I want to help you with this. I'm part of it in some way, so yeah,' she shrugged. ‘Let's do a drive-by tonight … now.'

‘It's at the end of a cul-de-sac, you can hardly drive past.'

‘I'll drive, you keep your head down on my lap … oh, you've already done that, haven't you? Well, you know what I mean,' she smiled with mischief.

Eventually all the customers were herded out of the Tawny Owl. They left unwillingly but good-naturedly and Henry locked the front door behind them. It was shortly after midnight as he turned the key in the lock, and he knew he was ready for sleep.

Alison and Ginny were behind the bar, cleaning up. It was one of Alison's insistences that the bar area was left pristine each night, all the glasses washed and dried, all the shelves restocked.

Donaldson was sitting by the fire which was slowly dying in the grate, looking through the books Henry had brought home.

‘Let's do a once-over through the premises, if you don't mind,' Henry asked him. ‘Then a nightcap by the fire?'

‘Sure, pal.'

Fortunately, and unusually, there were no overnight guests, so Henry and Donaldson could check each bedroom and lock the doors. They crossed paths a few times during this process and ended up back in the bar. Luckily Henry got there just before the shutters were pulled down and locked.

‘Nightcap?' he enquired hopefully of Alison. She gave him one of her stares; he came back with his best boyish grin, the look designed to melt any female heart, he believed misguidedly. Not impressed, she relented anyway. ‘You'll ruin me,' she said.

‘Already have … JD for me,' Henry said. ‘Karl, what's your poison?'

‘Same.'

Alison started to pour the drinks when the front doorbell rang.

Henry cursed, looked at the clock and exchanged glances with Donaldson, who moved swiftly to the bow window and peeked through a gap in the curtains without twitching them.

‘It's a woman,' he hissed.

Henry sidled in behind him and peered over his shoulder. It was a woman wearing a duffel coat with the hood up, her face hidden in the shadow. Neither man could identify her.

Henry leaned in front of Donaldson, pulled the curtain back and tapped on the window. She turned to the sound and Henry said, ‘We're closed,' exaggerating his lip movement to get the message across.

She flipped back the hood and said, ‘I know.'

Henry's eyes narrowed. He recognized her, but she was out of context here and for a moment he could not place her. Then it clicked. ‘Bloody hell, what's she doing here?'

‘Who is she, Henry?' The question was from Alison, who had joined the men at the window.

‘Marion … Marion Lang … she's just been brought into the murder team to go through the CCTV footage.'

‘Better let her in, then,' Alison said.

Karen drove, Flynn alongside her in the old Fiat Panda, out of Puerto Rico into the hills and arriving at the entrance to the small estate of executive villas. It should have been gated and secure, but the metal gates were now missing and had been completely removed since some idiot had driven through them in a stolen car a couple of nights before. The twisted remnants of the gates were stacked on a landscaped area by the road.

Karen drove slowly into the cul-de-sac, past each driveway.

Flynn glanced into the one from which he had borrowed the Lamborghini and saw that the sports car had now been returned – but not repaired. Its front end was as mangled as the gates it had crashed through.

He cringed, wondering how much the damage would cost to repair. More than he earned in a year.

Karen slammed on the brakes and said, ‘Is that the car you escaped in? The one we saw in town, smashed up?'

‘Might've been,' Flynn admitted.

‘Wow – way to go,' she said, impressed.

‘I'm actually not proud of causing thousands of pounds' worth of damage to an Italian supercar.'

‘You'd be less proud having your ashes scattered.'

‘Fair point … the villa is the last one on the right.'

Karen drove up to it.

It was in complete darkness and a sign in the garden, which Flynn didn't recall seeing there on his previous visit, announced the property was for up sale or rent.

‘I think they borrowed the place,' Flynn deduced. ‘Unofficially.'

‘Let's have a look.' Karen yanked up the handbrake and switched off the engine. She reached over and grabbed a flashlight tucked in behind the passenger seat.

‘We need to be careful,' Flynn warned.

‘There's nobody here, you can just tell … no car in the drive, no lights inside or out, all the blinds drawn … it'll be OK.'

Astounded by her sudden reckless bravery, Flynn clambered out and followed her up the driveway, but suddenly the darkness lifted as security lighting came on at ground level, illuminating the whole of the villa and the grounds.

‘Shit,' Flynn said.

‘Be OK – bet no one challenges us.'

Flynn looked around the garden and pool area, remembering it well. He went to the door through which he'd escaped, found it locked. The two of them walked around the outside of the house, checking that the other doors at this level were also locked. They were.

Karen stopped at some patio doors overlooking the pool, blinds drawn up behind them. ‘The locks on these are usually rubbish,' she said. She handed the flashlight to Flynn, then tugged at one of the sliding doors; it moved slightly in its grooves. She gave it a shake and it rattled loosely in its frame.

‘Are you a burglar?' Flynn asked.

‘Let's just hope the place isn't alarmed. Bet it isn't.' She stepped right up to the door, put her shoulder to it, took hold of the handle, braced herself, then pushed, lifted and pulled at the same time. There was a click, the door slid open and no audible alarm went off.

‘Clearly you should have been,' Flynn said, lighting her face by angling the torch beam up under her chin. She smiled eerily.

She slid the door further open, pushed back the blinds and, taking the torch from Flynn, flashed it into the bare, unfurnished room beyond, then entered with Flynn at her shoulder. There was nothing in the room and they crossed to the inner door, which opened into the hallway that Flynn had run through on his way out. To his left was the door that led to the pool area, to his right was the door to the room where he'd been held captive. Diagonally opposite were the stairs.

Flynn turned right to the room at the end of the corridor and opened it. Karen flashed the torch and Flynn said, ‘This is where I woke up strapped to a chair and looked into Jack Hoyle's face.'

The plastic sheet was no longer there. Flynn took the torch from Karen and shone it around the room; he saw no indication of what had happened in here. It had been cleaned up.

He went out, Karen at his heels, and walked to the foot of the stairs where he found a light switch and flicked it on, looked up the steps to that first small landing.

Karen gasped behind him.

‘Is that blood?' Karen asked, seeing the smeared red on the wall at the first landing where the man Flynn had shot through the chest had slammed backwards and slithered down on to his backside. The man was gone but the evidence of his probable death was still there.

‘Yeah,' he said, ‘it's blood.'

Marion Lang, thirty-eight years old, single, admin worker, was a very frightened woman. She was on a stool by the dwindling fire in the bar, Henry opposite her. Donaldson and Alison were at the bar, chatting in low tones.

Frightened, Henry thought, was an understatement.

Terrified was closer to the truth.

She had removed her duffel coat and now sat primly with her hands clasped on her thighs, a coffee on the table in front of her.

She had a pretty but sad sort of face, hair pulled back tightly in a bun. Henry knew she had been with the constabulary for twenty years, mainly doing admin work, and had applied for HOLMES training to liven up her dreary job a little by being drafted on to major incidents and murders. From that she had also developed a skill at reviewing CCTV footage, which required a certain mind-set that most detectives didn't possess. Henry had used her before, which is why she was brought in on this murder following the chase through the streets as Woodcock pursued Hawke. She was a quiet, conscientious person, very suited to spending hours sifting through footage, and Henry liked people like her on investigations.