‘Hi, Paul,’ Roy Grace said. He nodded to Glenn and put the phone on loudspeaker. ‘How are you? Missing me already?’

The Inspector replied, sounding serious. ‘Actually, yes, guv, we all are. Got to figure out a way to tempt you back to the Met. But that’s not why I’m calling. It’s about Dr Crisp.’

‘Our happy fugitive!’

‘Yep, well, I’m afraid he’s not such a happy bunny now.’

‘Tell me?’

‘He was identified on CCTV by one of the Met Super Recognizer Unit, walking along the Thames Embankment in the direction of Waterloo Bridge earlier today. Three cars and the helicopter were deployed – two cars on the south of the bridge and one to the north. As he reached the bridge the two officers in the car to the north approached him. He did a runner across it. When he saw the car blocking off the south exit, he jumped over the parapet into the river.’

‘Shit. Did he get away again?’

‘Not this time, Roy. People underestimate the current in the Thames. If you jumped off the north bank at Waterloo at certain times, you’d be carried down to the Albert Bridge long before you reached the south bank. The River Police pulled him out a mile east of Kew Bridge. Dead. Drowned.’

Grace heard the last few words in numb silence. Dead. Drowned.

It took him some moments to process this. ‘You’re absolutely sure it is him, Paul?’ He caught Branson’s shocked expression.

‘We’ve had fingerprint identification and we’ve sent DNA off, but it’s him, Roy, I’m certain – and there’s a very obvious eye injury. I’ll send you a couple of photographs.’

Roy Grace didn’t know whether to be happy or to cry. The monster had escaped justice – in a way. In doing so, Crisp had denied the families of the victims, as well as his last intended victim, the closure of seeing him brought to justice.

Roy Grace was not a religious man. But there were times in his life when he envied those who did have faith. Those who believed in the afterlife.

His mind dwelled for a moment on the concept of the Akashic Records – a theory that, after you died, you were held to account. The Akashic Records replayed every thought, emotion and intent you ever had throughout your life on earth and you had to explain what exactly you had done with your time – just how you had used the amazing privilege of life that you had been granted.

And to be punished accordingly.

It was at times like this he so wished the idea were true. That Dr Edward Crisp, instead of rapid oblivion in the dark, cold current of the Thames, would be made to stand up and squirm as all the horrors he had inflicted on fellow human beings were replayed to him.