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Brennan shook his head. ‘I'm doing nothing. Keeping my nose squeaky clean. I'm just trying to work out where I stand. If Salter is dodgy, I don't want to find that I'm being used as the dummy.'

‘That's the problem when you've screwed up as royally as you have, Jack. You become fair game for every shyster.'

‘Thanks a bunch for that.' Brennan was watching the house, where the SOCO team seemed finally to have finished. A couple of them in their white suits were standing on the doorstep chatting to the DCs waiting to go in. He could see one of them gesture in his own direction, clearly offering some observation about Brennan's presence. ‘You were right about communication, though. All I want is to be kept informed. I'll do the same with you. I'll let you know anything that emerges on Boyle. I'm not sure I'm even supposed to do that. Salter didn't exactly swear me to secrecy, but he won't be overjoyed that I'm sharing everything with you. But in return I'd like you to keep me up to speed with this. Anything that comes up from your interviews.'

Renshaw gazed at him for a moment. ‘You know, for a smart guy, you can be very naïve, Jack. Our lot and their lot are both chasing the same prize. If we start sharing information, there's a danger they might get there first. And, judging from past experience, they're not too keen to share the glory.'

Brennan had noted that he hadn't been categorised as one of ‘their lot'. ‘I'm on your side, Rob. I'm not going to shaft you.'

‘Too right you're not, Jack. Not if you don't want to find your softer parts spread on toast. Okay, I'll keep you in the picture. But don't feed back any of it to Hugh fucking Salter without my say-so. I'm running this investigation, and I intend that it'll stay that way. That clear?'

‘Pellucid,' Brennan said.

Renshaw was gazing over Brennan's shoulder. A police car was turning into the far end of the estate, blue lights flashing but without sirens. ‘Looks like the top brass are here to make a token appearance for the media. Make yourself scarce, Jack. Before your fan club arrives.'

When she finally turned on her personal mobile, there were three messages waiting. She listened to the most recent first. Sue, Liam's carer, her voice dripping acid. ‘Just having another go at getting hold of you, Marie. Liam's stable, but they want to keep him in overnight for observation. I'll keep you posted.'

Shit. The previous two messages told the full story. Liam's condition had worsened that morning and, by the time the carers arrived, he seemed to be having some difficulty breathing. Sue had left a first message seeking Marie's agreement to call Liam's GP. Receiving no response, she'd called the GP anyway, and the GP – almost inevitably, in Marie's experience – had decided to get Liam checked out in hospital.

She dialled Sue's number but the phone was busy or turned off. Maybe she was at the hospital with Liam. Double shit. She left a short apologetic message and ended the call.

Marie paced up and down the tiny living room of her new house, wondering what to do. It was four o'clock, Saturday. There was time for her to drive back down to London, check how Liam was, and – assuming he was okay – head back up here sometime on Sunday, ready for McGrath and the start of the working week.

It wasn't what she wanted to do, though, unless it was really necessary. As it was, she felt grossly under-prepared for kicking things off with McGrath. She'd been hoping for another day of thinking herself into the mind and body of Maggie Yates. The last thing she needed was a day of being Marie Donovan under pressure, worrying about Liam, making sure he was being properly looked after. And what would happen if she got down there and discovered that he really wasn't well enough to be left? Could she face telling Salter that she was abandoning her assignment? What would be the implications of that?

Part of her mind was still distracted by her earlier meeting with Jack Brennan. He'd rushed off after taking the call about Helen Kerridge's murder, and she'd been left with a frustrating sense of unfinished business. They hadn't begun to talk about Pete Boyle, Brennan's purported reason for wanting to meet her. But she'd felt an empathy with Brennan. Maybe it was just that he'd echoed her concerns about Salter. Or maybe it was that, like her, he seemed out on a limb, feeling his way in unfamiliar territory, unsure who to trust.

Or maybe it was just that he was the best-looking policeman she'd come across in a while. She'd never claimed to be deep.

Whichever it was, she'd instinctively liked him more than she expected. She could see that there was some vanity there, and some ego, but it was offset by a self-deprecating good humour. She also sensed a warmth and generosity of spirit that had been missing from her life since – well, since Liam had fallen ill. It was only now, as she saw the contrast with Brennan, that she realised how much the illness had affected Liam. She didn't know who he was anymore, but she was increasingly sure that he wasn't the man she'd once loved.

She also knew how dangerous these thoughts could be. She'd recognised in her previous assignment that one of the real problems with this job was the loneliness. There was no space for real friendships. You couldn't afford to get too close to people. Couldn't allow them to spot the chinks in your fictional armour. Even going for a casual drink or a meal was fraught with risk.

But the loneliness could cloud your judgement. She knew that all too well. She knew how serious the consequences could be. That was how she'd ended up in bed with Jake Morton.

She was distracted from these thoughts by the buzz of her mobile on the table. She'd left it turned on after trying to call Sue, hoping that the carer might respond to the message she'd left. But the number on the screen was unfamiliar.

‘Yes?' Never give your name, that was one of the rules. Never give too much away until you're sure who you're talking to. She'd given very few people this number – Liam, her parents, now Sue – and most of them had strict instructions. Don't mention Marie's name in any messages, don't leave your own name or return number. Think about the consequences of the phone being lost or stolen. Only Sue, who knew nothing significant about Marie's work, had not been given this guidance, and Marie had winced when she'd heard her name being spoken in the messages earlier. The risk was minimal, but it was still a risk that Marie normally avoided.

‘Sorry to call you on this line. Thought the secure one was a little too close to home.' She recognised the voice now. Brennan.

‘How'd you get this number?' she said, conscious that she sounded more accusatory than she'd intended. On the other hand, how
had
he got this number?

There was a pause, which she interpreted as signifying embarrassment. ‘From your personnel file, actually. I went into the system and dug it out.'

It was her turn to pause as she thought through the implications of this. ‘What did you mean about the secure line being too close to home?' she asked, finally.

‘Just felt that if I wanted a private chat with you, this one might be a bit more discreet. I thought that Salter might have access to the records and wonder why I'd called.'

‘Good question. Why are you calling me?'

‘Felt we hadn't finished today. Wondered whether we might continue another time.'

‘Look, Jack. I was uneasy about agreeing to the meeting in the first place. I don't know if I can justify meeting you twice.' Even though, she thought, it's exactly what I'd like to do. ‘Especially if you're looking to do it behind Salter's back.'

‘It's Salter I want to talk about. Among other things. We seem to have some common views about him.'

‘Neither of us trusts him,' she said. ‘Let me break this to you gently: that doesn't make us members of any exclusive club.'

‘I'm guessing that the Society of Hugh Salter Shaftees is probably a pretty broad church. But I'd rather not be one of them. And at the moment I have the sense that I'm being set up.'

‘And where do I come in?'

‘Maybe I'm just looking for a receptive ear. Someone who knows Salter better than I do, and who can tell me if I'm talking bollocks.' He paused. ‘Someone to give the new kid a bit of support. I've screwed up royally once. I can't afford to do it again.'

It was tempting. She wanted to nail Pete Boyle. And she wanted to know what Salter's game was. Brennan might help her achieve both objectives. He was certainly in a better position to do anything than she would be once she'd got her feet under McGrath's desk. She'd at least have an ally.

Assuming she could trust Jack Brennan.

‘Let me think about it. I've got to be careful. I'm starting the new job tomorrow and I've got to keep my head clear. Give me a week or so till I'm settled in. Then – well, maybe we could meet up again. I'll call you.'

She ended the call and stood for a moment, staring at the screen. She had the sense that she'd just committed to something more serious than her words had implied. The story of her life. Leaping before she looked.

She was startled by the sudden buzzing of the phone in her hand. Sue the carer this time. ‘Hi. Marie.'

‘I've been trying to call,' Sue said, accusingly, ‘but it just went to voicemail again.'

‘Sorry. Somebody called me. I've just got off the line. How is he?'

There was a pause, in which Marie imagined Sue mouthing the words ‘As if you care.' Sue said, ‘Like I say, stable. They want to keep him in for observation, though. He's still not well. Seems very unresponsive. We were struggling to get any fluids down him, so he got a bit dehydrated as well. They've got him on a drip now.'

‘What do they think the trouble is?'

‘Something and nothing, they say. Probably just a cold. But you know the way that knocks him back.'

Of course I do, Marie wanted to say. I live with him, for Christ's sake. Except that, just at the moment, that wasn't quite true. She wasn't living with him. ‘Any little thing seems to, these days,' she said. ‘Okay, I'd better head back down. I'm due to start the new job up here on Monday, but I can at least come back for tomorrow. How long do they reckon he'll be in for?'

‘They're not sure. If he improves overnight, he could be out tomorrow. But they might keep him in longer if he's showing no signs of improvement.' There was another hesitation which again seemed to convey a wealth of meaning. ‘Look, it's up to you, obviously. But I don't know there's that much point in you rushing back tonight. By the time you get down visiting time will be finished, so you won't be able to come in here anyway. Why don't you wait until the morning? If he's okay by then, maybe they'll discharge him anyway.'

‘He'll still need someone to look after him. Get him home.'

‘Well, I was going to say that, if it's needed, I could do that.'

‘That's very kind of you, Sue. But the care arrangements won't cover that, will they?' The core support from Sue and the other carers was largely funded through the local authority, although Marie and Liam paid for some additional hours out of their own pockets.

‘Don't worry about that,' Sue said. ‘It's not covered my time today, either, but when these things happen you just have to deal with them.' The tone, to Marie's ears, managed to be both martyred and accusatory.

‘Yes, but we can't expect you to–'

‘It's what I do, Marie. I do it to make a living. But I also do it because I want to. I won't let Liam down.'

The subtext there was unmistakable. Marie was on the point of saying: ‘No, sod you, I'm coming, whether you like it or not.' But she bit back the words, recognising that, whatever her own feelings might be, Sue was indispensable to Liam. Even if Marie could help Liam tomorrow, she was still going to have to return up here on Monday. ‘Well, if you're sure you can manage, Sue.' she said, finally.

‘I'll be fine,' Sue said. ‘I'll give you the number of the ward, so you can phone directly and check how he is in the morning. Then you can decide whether it's worth coming down.'

There was a finality in Sue's words that allowed no space to disagree. Marie muttered more thanks and ended the call. Christ, she thought, it's getting worse. We're playing tug of war over poor Liam's struggling body, trying to show which of us cares more.

And the worst thing was that it felt as if she'd already lost. As if Sue was already dragging Liam away, pulling him unresisting into the warmth and security of her caring heart.

Another one down. Another job completed.

It had turned out pretty easy in the end, for all his initial forebodings. Apart from that small jitter at the start, he'd handled it perfectly. He sat back, thinking through the detail of the night before. Checking that he'd got it right, and had left no evidence that might come back to bite him. He felt confident enough. He'd left barely a trace of himself in the house. Apart from the dead body and the unlocked rear door, there was no obvious sign that he'd been there. And there was nothing – fingerprints, DNA – that could be traced back to the person he now was. There would be more in the house he'd used for reconnaissance, but no one would have a reason to look in there.

And the killing had been remarkably simple. He'd somehow expected that she would give him more trouble. But she'd hardly woken. Just that moment when her eyes had opened and she'd looked directly at him. He wondered whether she'd recognised him in that split second. Probably not. Their paths had crossed only infrequently in the days when he worked for her husband.

But she knew what was about to happen to her. Even though she'd struggled, fought back against his weight pressing down on her, that had seemed almost an afterthought. In her eyes, she'd seemed almost resigned to it. Something she had been expecting for a long time. Perhaps something she wanted.