“We can ID the body now, sir,” Jack said, trying to sound casual. “We know all the players, except him. Or her. And what better place to hide the diamonds than in a grave that the police don’t want to admit even exists? I’ve read the reports on the diamond heist. Those gems couldn’t be fenced in London and there’s no evidence they were taken out of the country. They have to still be here.”

Jack had been agonizing for days about how he was going to suggest to Ridley that digging up a 35-year-old grave was a good idea; now, here he was, seconds away from Ridley suggesting it himself.

Easy does it, he told himself. Don’t push him. Let him decide . . . God almighty—why does Ridley think so fucking slowly?

At last Ridley spoke. “You decided what you’re doing about the sergeant’s position, Jack?”

“I was going to mention that to you first thing, sir. I’m going to go for it,” Jack replied earnestly. “This case . . . Something’s clicked into place and there’s no going back for me now. No more apathy, sir, I promise. I know what I want.”

Ridley collected the two empty coffee cups and headed back to his office.

“Leave this grave thing with me,” he said.

Through the window, Jack watched as Ridley picked up his phone and pressed the uppermost, right-hand, fast-dial button—the button that connected him to Superintendent Raeburn. He sat and spun his chair away from the squad room.

Jack’s grin spread from ear to ear.

Pathologist William Fox was in his lab when Jack burst in.

“Foxy, you’ll be getting a bag of bones in the next few days, maybe weeks, I’ll give you the nod. But, when they arrive, I need you to do a DNA test for me.”

Foxy and Jack had trained together for six months. They’d got on like a house on fire and had kept in touch when Jack went back to Devon. They were proper friends. The kind who, when asked for a favor, said “yes” first and asked “what is it?” second.

“I can’t use stock from here, Jack,” said Fox. “You’ll have to provide the DNA kit.”

It was that simple.

Chapter 20

Angela’s children ran into the lounge. They were dressed in their pajamas, their hair was wet at the bottom and crazy on top from where Rob had blasted it with the hairdryer, making no attempt to brush it during the process. Aggie was 7 and Riel was 9. Aggie was still young enough to leap into her parents’ arms, hugging and kissing them goodnight, whereas Riel had recently got into the habit of standing reluctantly in front of Angela and allowing her to drag him toward her body. He was still young enough to want a hug before bed, but too old to admit it.

Tonight was a nightmare for Riel—because after he’d allowed his mum a snuggle, he was steered in the direction of Aunt Connie, who squeezed him into her ample breasts. Julia then grabbed Riel, threw him onto the carpet and showered his neck with rapid-fire kisses.