Jack sat alone in an all-night café drinking tea from a giant, stained mug, enjoying the privacy and silence. He flicked through the other pages of Dougie’s notebook, reckoning it might help them track down some other missing villains as well. “Villains.” He didn’t like that word in relation to the women. He knew it was what they were but after all, Jack had broken into Dougie’s office to get this notebook. So, what did that make him? He liked to think of himself as a copper using his ingenuity, but, in truth, there was no way he could take this notebook to Ridley—not considering the way he’d acquired it.

For a moment, Jack felt ashamed that he’d crossed a line. Then he felt more ashamed that he could make or break the lives of nine people who, in the big scheme of things, hadn’t done much wrong other than collect a hoard of cash, more than two decades old, that nobody else even knew existed. As he recognized the magnitude of what he was holding, and the lives he could bring down with it, he suddenly felt immensely powerful. His heart pounded and his eyes narrowed—he wanted the “kill” like never before. He was being too soft: these women had stolen the money in the first place. They’d outsmarted him, embarrassed him and he wanted to win. Again, and without any prompting, Jack thought about Harry.

And then he thought about the only person who really mattered—Maggie. He thought about the lower maternity pay, all of the stuff they’d need for the baby, Penny possibly moving in with them, his promotion to sergeant. Jack needed this. He needed to sacrifice the women and their kids in favor of his newly shaped family. Every man for himself. The women selfishly wanted to better themselves . . . Well—now it was Jack’s turn.

He dialed a number.

“Sarge, do me a favor, please. First thing, I need DCI Ridley to be told that Dougie Marshall is our forger. A raid on his son’s bookies will confirm everything. I’m going to send him an email shortly with more information, but I’m 100 percent certain. Can you pass that on? I’ll be in at eight.”

Across the road from the café, the shadowy figure from outside Eddie’s flat was, once again, following Jack’s every move.

Jack drove into the police station car park bang on 7:30—half an hour early for their raid on Marshall’s bookies. Ridley had called Jack back last night, the instant he’d received the email. They’d chatted through how Jack had got Dougie’s name from an unofficial, rather impromptu “informant”—and how Rachel Yarborough had confirmed the old man’s reputation. Jack described the office, highlighting all of the forgery equipment and how he thought Dougie’s age was irrelevant; he was more than capable of giving the best of today’s forgers a run for their money. He ended by reiterating that he was certain a search of the property would come up trumps. It was Jack’s intention to “find” the notebook while on this morning’s raid.