Suddenly, two coppers raced round the corner on foot into the quiet road ahead of Darren, sending him swerving toward the sidewalk. He tried to right himself, but now he’d slowed to the same speed as the coppers and, in a pincer movement, they closed in, dragged Darren off the bike and plonked him face down on the road. Julia hid, pushing her back flat against the wall. She screwed her eyes closed as she listened to Darren cursing the coppers and fighting for his life. She heard the police car arrive; she heard the coppers call Darren a “waste of skin” and an “unwanted stray.” Julia clenched her fists so tight that her nails dug into her palms, burying the shame she felt as she abandoned Darren to his fate. What kind of mother was she?

When Julia opened her eyes, she could see Sam and Suzie holding hands in the distance. This was the kind of mother she had to be now. Sam was pointing back toward the waste ground. It was time to go, but Julia couldn’t peel herself off the wall.

From her hiding place, she could hear as Darren screamed profanities and fought like a maniac. He never once shouted for Julia and he never once gave away her position. Once the police car had driven off, she walked back to Sam and Suzie.

Sam saw Julia’s tears and, with all the understanding and sensitivity of a grown-up, he tapped his finger on her chest.

“He ain’t strong in here. And he ain’t smart.”

He took Julia by the hand and together the three of them walked to the bus.

By the time the bus was on the A1 toward Newcastle upon Tyne, Sam was teaching Riel and Aggie dirty versions of pop songs, much to Connie’s amusement. Ester, as expected, wasn’t happy.

“I’ve spent my entire life avoiding the fucking North, Angela. What’s wrong with Dover? It’s cleaner and it’s closer to Switzerland.”

Angela had explained the escape plan a dozen times, so she knew that Ester wasn’t really asking a genuine question, she was just whining. If they’d been in a gold-plated private cruiser, Ester would have complained about the color.

Julia sat alone, staring out the window at the Yorkshire Dales flashing by and trying not to cry. In the reflection of the window, she watched Angela approach and pause next to her. As Angela spoke, Julia could almost hear Dolly’s voice.

“We were never going to get everyone out.”

The squad room was buzzing. Fibers of horsehair found on Barry’s severed trouser leg were being compared to any furnishings that survived from the Rose Cottage carnage—and the cash had traces of accelerant on it that matched the petrol from Mike’s Range Rover.

Anik had worked with Essex Police to create a timeline for Barry since leaving the army. He had been lead foremen at a demolition company for three years, until he was sacked for “misplacing” four sticks of dynamite, just two weeks before the mail train was blown off its tracks and robbed. Mike Withey then employed Barry at his security firm. It seemed that Barry had also used his industry connections to make several discreet phone calls to the company due to demolish Rose Cottage, asking to know schedules and time frames for starting work. This was vital information, because if the cottage had been sealed off and become a building site before the cash was removed, the demolition company would have been the ones to tear down the kitchen wall.