‘Just remember this, Nick,’ Gready said. ‘A lion may be the king of the jungle, but a wolf doesn’t perform in a circus.’

71

Friday 17 May

Roy Grace finally left his office at Sussex Police HQ at 7.30 p.m. He’d spent the past hour on the phone with Detective Superintendent Ross Shepherd at the Met, who was coordinating the lockdown of the hospital, in case Edward Crisp was hiding in there, as well as a manhunt across London. They both well knew, with Crisp’s past form, their chance of a result was slim. He could be anywhere, including out of the country, by now.

Grace had suggested – and not in jest – they focus on sewers. The seemingly mild-mannered family GP had used sewers as an escape route previously. Did he have a particular reason for wounding himself in the eye – was it to end up at Moorfields Hospital, either because of its location in the east of London, or because of its relatively low security?

As he drove his Alfa out of the car park, he was reflecting on his difficult day, especially with Pewe, as well as the knowledge that he would be spending much of the weekend ahead back at his office. But with Cleo pregnant again, there was at least something to be really positive about.

Turning into the residential street outside the HQ, he drove home in a slightly better mood, but his mind still churning with all that had happened today. And, mostly, his fury at Cassian Pewe. He tried to calm his anger by thinking of a Buddhist saying Cleo loved: Everyone you meet is fighting a battle of their own you know nothing about. Be kind to everyone.

Even to Pewe?

72

Friday 17 May

Twenty-five minutes later, Roy Grace drove along the track and pulled up outside his cottage. As he climbed out of his car into bright daylight, the sun still high in the sky, he heard the familiar bleating of sheep on the hill behind their house, but was surprised he couldn’t hear Humphrey. Normally the dog would be at the front door, barking his head off in greeting. Cleo was at home today. She was using the time to finish off her final modules and dissertation in order to complete her OU philosophy degree course.

He lifted his laptop bag off the rear seat and walked up the path, past the riot of flowers in their front garden, unlocked the front door and went in. No sign of the dog. ‘Hi!’ he called out, across the open-plan living-dining area. Cleo’s course papers were spread out across one of the sofas and the coffee table. Noah’s playthings were strewn around the floor.

‘Hi, darling!’ she replied, coming down the stairs, wearing a loose dress over her small baby bump.

He went over and kissed her as she reached the bottom, then asked, ‘Where’s Humphrey?’