That morning, Jack had promised her breakfast in bed and a cuddle and he’d failed to deliver either. This evening, he had promised her a night out—which he was failing to deliver. Maggie wasn’t annoyed; she was deeply upset. She could feel everything slipping away because of Jack’s crazy obsession with finding his birth father, in the hope of finding himself. She knew he was grieving for Charlie, so she was being as supportive as possible—but he wasn’t making it easy. She looked at the bottle of white in front of her—one glass left. She swigged the last mouthful from her glass and then emptied the bottle. The sommelier dived across the restaurant, but he was far too slow. He removed the empty bottle and, with a patronizing tone and a tilt of the head, asked Maggie if she’d like some bread while she waited for her companion. She wanted to tell him to fuck off, but instead she smiled and said, “No, thank you.”

Maggie spent the next five minutes watching a spot of white wine, which she’d dripped onto the tablecloth from the now-empty bottle, dry slowly. She glanced at the clock on the wall. She’d been sitting alone for thirty-five minutes; she was starving and pissed. When the restaurant door next opened, she had to look twice at the man who entered before she recognized him. Jack was dressed as he was always dressed, but he looked different. Maggie had rehearsed what she was going to say when he finally walked in, all apologetic and eager to make amends, but this wasn’t the man she’d expected. This man looked her straight in the eyes and smiled, as though he’d done nothing at all wrong. He looked handsome, confident, powerful. He looked like a man who knew that he was worth waiting for. Maggie couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Jack didn’t apologize for being late and Maggie didn’t shout at him as she’d planned to. He simply sat opposite her, stared deep into her soul with his smiling brown eyes and told her how much he loved her.

Chapter 31

Colchester Police Station was a square, tan-colored new-build on the A134 with a green courtyard right in the center. It blended well into the surrounding area, making it seem unobtrusive and non-threatening, regardless of what went on inside. This is where Anik was heading, although he was currently stuck behind a stalled student driver on the roundabout just twenty yards away. Ridley was in the passenger seat, reading the police files on Thomas Kurts, Rashid Wassan and Dennis Marchant; Laura, who also had a copy of the files, was frowning as she read, having been relegated to the back seat. Anik was reveling in his “promotion” to driver, but this was because Ridley knew that he couldn’t read in cars without being sick.

“The suspects have all had specialist training,” Ridley continued. “Marchant’s a munitions expert who we now know was at the birth of his brother’s second child on the night of the train robbery. His brother had lost his license one week earlier, so Marchant had stepped up as the designated baby taxi. He’s in all the photos. But we’re still going to interview him—not being there doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved. Wassan, no such alibi, was a sapper alongside Barry Cooper. Dangerous men. These interviews will probably be ‘no comment.’ They’ll be good under pressure, so won’t bat an eye. This will more than likely come down to evidence, not confessions. It’s a longer road, but that’s fine. We’re smart, methodical and we’re patient . . . and Anik, if you don’t overtake that stalled learner right now, I’m getting out and walking.”