‘Clear the city of low-life scum. He said we could be endangering the lives of Captain Cyclone’s agents in the field if we talked. But I no longer accept the words of a liar.’

‘I see what you’re saying, Wren,’ said Cole. ‘But I don’t get the reference to endangering the lives of Captain Cyclone’s agents in the field?’

‘That’s exactly what the lying McKee said to me when he got out of the van. Stay right where you are, Wren, and watch out for enemy agents. If you get out of the van you could be endangering the lives of Captain Cyclone’s agents in the field. These are not my orders, these are the orders of Captain Cyclone himself.’

‘Do you know how far up the footpath you parked?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Did you see anything out of the window while you were waiting?’

‘In the wing mirror, I saw a green sign with white writing and there were white words – Bridle Path – and a white picture of a rider on a horse.’

‘That’s interesting,’ said Cole, working out the proximity of the place where McKee had parked to the flooded sinkhole in which Amanda Winton’s body had been discovered.

‘When Edgar McKee got out of the van, what did you hear?’

‘I heard Edgar opening the back of the van. I heard Edgar slamming the back doors of the van. I heard his feet squelching in the mud as he walked away. I heard a yappy dog coming closer. I saw a speck of light in the van’s wing mirror. I thought I heard someone screaming. I heard Edgar’s heavy breathing as he got in the van. In the driver’s seat. Let’s get you home now, Wren.’

‘How did Edgar appear when he got back into the van?’

‘He was shaking. He was in a hurry to get away.’

‘He told us that you explained to him about Captain Cyclone as you were parked there?’

‘No, I said nothing about Captain Cyclone. We weren’t there long.’

Under the desk, Cole crossed his fingers and made a mental journey from the bridle path to the drop-off site of Amanda Winton’s body.

‘How long was Edgar McKee out of the van?’

In his mind, Cole walked there with the weight of a woman’s corpse in his arms and ran back to the van empty-handed.

‘Four minutes and nine seconds,’ said Wren, with supreme confidence.

‘That precise?’ asked Cole blandly, in spite of the flame that the answer ignited inside his head.

‘I counted time in my head when he was gone. It was four minutes and nine seconds exactly. I have a clock.’ He touched his forehead. ‘Inside my head.’

Cole looked at Wren’s father, who smiled.

‘We don’t need to have a clock of any description in our house. Do we, son?’