“Norma Walker? Norma Walker? Why do I know the name?”

Prescott seemed to expect Miriam to know the answer to this. But she didn’t. Gerrard took over. Prescott loved listening to Gerrard’s gentle Cork accent so much that an unconscious little smile crept over his face every time he spoke.

“Speculatively, if all the paper in the hearth at Rose Cottage was old money, we’re looking at somewhere between £1 million and £1.8 million. It depends on how much was in £5 notes and how much was in £10 notes. Forensics haven’t found any intact serial numbers—and they say they won’t, by the way—so we can’t date the money more accurately than pre-May 2017. I’ve got a list of robberies longer than me arm, with hauls big enough to be the Rose Cottage money—”

Prescott jumped to his feet, slamming his palms down on his desk.

“Norma Walker was interviewed about an armed robbery . . .” Prescott’s eyes flicked around the room as he tried to find the memory he needed. Gerrard searched his notes whenever Prescott added more information into the search filter. “Early nineties. Maybe mid-nineties. And Bill . . . Bill . . .” Prescott clicked his fingers repeatedly at Gerrard.

“I was born in ’92, sir.”

Prescott ignored Gerrard and turned to Miriam. She was only one year off retirement. She would be more helpful.

“Bill . . . Mounted officer, must have worked with Norma . . . Talked your ear off—”

“Thorn!” Miriam yelled in an excited outburst.

“Bill bloody Thorn!” Prescott slumped back down, exhausted. “In ’95, the Aylesbury mail train was robbed by a gang of five or six blokes, not half a mile from Rose Cottage. £27 million they got away with. Bill Thorn was in the Thames Valley search team that partnered up with the Transport Police. They reckoned it was outsiders—no local names had it in ’em to pull something that big. The roads were closed within minutes and hundreds of officers searched the entire area. Found nothing.”

Prescott put his elbows on the desk, wrapped his right fist in his left hand and leaned his chin on his clenched fingers.

“If Sheila and the Rose Cottage cash are connected to a £27 million train robbery from 1995, it’ll be an open Flying Squad case, I reckon.” He pointed at Gerrard. “You—dig up everything you can on the ’95 train robbery. And you”—he turned to Miriam—“dig up Bill Thorn.”

Chapter 3

By the time the two-car convoy had reached Watford, Anik was feeling sick. He sat with his head leaning back against the headrest, his eyes closed, and his fingers clenched together on top of the file on his lap. The handwritten words on the front of the file read ROSE COTTAGE, AYLESBURY.

“I can’t read in cars, Laura. I’m sorry, I just can’t. From what I can gather though, the worst-case scenario is that the body’s a sex offender, burned to death in an abandoned cottage. And the best-case scenario is that the body’s connected to a twenty-four-year-old train robbery.”