Jack sat in his car for a second, preparing for the impending praise he was about to get from Ridley. He checked the small rucksack by his side—the notebook was on the top, in pride of place. Jack took it out and put it into his glovebox. He then checked his mobile. In his photo album was a picture of every page in Dougie’s notebook . . . just in case he ever needed it in the future. He didn’t know quite what he might need it for, but he was certain that it was something Harry would have done.

The battleship-gray corridor looked oddly bright and cheerful this morning. Jack entered the squad room to a chorus of friendly “well done”s and, less cordially, the odd “jammy wanker.” Then, as they took a closer look at him: “What the hell have you done to your face?”

From behind his desk, Ridley stood to meet Jack and, for the first time since his interview, he offered Jack his hand to shake. Jack took it with pride—his broad smile was making his nose ache.

“Was that in the line of duty?” Ridley asked.

“No, sir. Just a fall. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Well . . . you were bang on the money.”

Jack’s smile dropped. What did Ridley mean, he was bang on the money?

Ridley reached into his out-tray and dropped £5,000 in an evidence bag onto his desk.

“Anik argued a case for moving the raid to seven, so we went with that. He said he’d called you to let you know. That’ll teach you to start picking up your bloody voicemails, won’t it?”

Jack was furious. What the hell was he going to do now? He could hardly claim to have found the notebook in the raid, if he wasn’t on the fucking raid! He daren’t turn round in case seeing Anik’s stupid face made him snap and rip the little shit’s throat out. All of his plans were ruined in a split second of selfish, petulant jealousy.

“We’ve got Gareth downstairs,” said Ridley. “He’s waiting on his solicitor, so we can’t interview him yet.”

“What about Dougie?” Jack asked.

“Dead.” Jack couldn’t hide his shock. “According to Gareth, someone saying they were a policeman barged into his dad’s office yesterday, and scared the crap out of him. He had a massive angina attack later that night and . . . Well, he wasn’t strong enough to come back from it. There’s no CCTV, but Gareth says he’d recognize the man if he saw him again. But we’ve got them, Jack! We found passport sleeves, driving licenses, and £5 k from the train robbery. Gareth will talk. And then we’ve got them!”

Chapter 37

Jack leaned heavily on the edge of the sink in the men’s loo, water dripping from his face. He stared at his reflection; his eyebrows were down, the furrow between his eyes was deep, his cheek muscles flinched. Who was this angry man? Jack tried to change his expression, but he couldn’t. Anik’s betrayal was impossible to forget. Ridley’s pathetic, thoughtless, disrespectful decision to leave an immature prick like Anik to contact Jack with such vitally important information as a change of time to the raid was unforgivable. Jack didn’t know how to feel about this side of the law anymore. Were they really worth his time, his skills, his dedication?