“You’re going to find his killer, aren’t you? He was one of yours, you owe him that much.”

“I promise you, Mrs. Withey, that the moment we find out who killed Mike, I’ll come back here and tell you personally.”

When Rob got home from finishing the repairs to the bus, Angela was sitting in the dark, holding a glass of wine in one hand and the small, worn teddy bear in the other. He moved round the back of her and wrapped his big, warm forearms around her shoulders. The thick black hairs on his arms tickled her chin—something that normally made her smile and scratch her face—but, this time, it went unnoticed.

“The police have been round,” she said calmly. Rob pushed his lips against her cheek in a long kiss to show her she had nothing to worry about. “He asked about the train robbery.”

“We knew they would,” Rob reasoned. “We’re in good shape. Everybody knows what they have to do.” He held Angela’s hand, as she held the teddy bear. “I wish she could see you, Ange. Dolly would be so proud.”

Chapter 17

DI Prescott watched a young PC stepping from foot to foot and clapping his hands together in an attempt to stay warm. Prescott smirked—the poor kid looked like he was doing a Greek dance. Prescott, on the other hand, stood statue-still by the side of the muddy Range Rover. This was a big find and would allow him to legitimately get bang up to speed on the case.

Mike’s Range Rover sat in a field, tucked in close behind a tall hedgerow, about a quarter a mile back from Rose Cottage. The fuel cap was missing and the tank had been siphoned almost dry; a sample of the fuel had been taken for analysis and Prescott was confident that this was where the accelerant for the fire had come from. Police tape protected the vehicle and the messy array of footprints that surrounded it. Rain had taken most of the evidence, but between the vehicle and the hedge the ground was sheltered, and SOCOs were getting some good casts from the footprints they found right next to the open fuel cap. With no keys in the ignition and no sign of hot-wiring, the immediate area was being searched—the keys could have vital fingerprints on them.

Prescott’s eyes narrowed as he processed the scene in his mind and tried to figure out the sequence of events.

Had Mike siphoned his own tank with the intention of burning down Rose Cottage? Probably not—because if the fire was premeditated, he’d have been more likely to bring a siphoning hose with him and not cut a piece from the one they found in the back garden, or just siphon the petrol into a container before he got there. Unless Mike had been to Rose Cottage before and knew the hose was there. The fire somehow just seemed more likely to be a forensic countermeasure by the person Mike had fought with and was killed by. So, the killer must have known where Mike had hidden his Range Rover, because it had been a bugger to find. Maybe they’d arrived together. Or was there a second vehicle for the killer to escape in?