Tyler’s eyes drift once again to Sally-Ann’s body. “I’m not coming back,” he says.

Doggett follows his gaze. “That wasn’t your fault, you know. You couldn’t have saved her. You’re a good cop, DS Tyler, but even you can’t save everyone.”

He wants to believe that, but he knows somehow he let her down. All she needed was one friend. One friend who could have seen how much she was suffering. If only he’d worked it out sooner . . .

“I’m not coming back,” he says again.

Doggett puts a hand on his shoulder. “I wanted you on this because I knew your dad. I knew him very well, and I knew his son would turn out to be just as good a cop as he was. You’ll be back, all right. Your dad never let anyone down, and you’re not about to either. It’s in your genes.”

Tyler shakes his head. “Actually, I think my father let me down in quite a big way.”

Doggett snorts but doesn’t argue. Then he says, “Take a few weeks, then come find me. There are things we need to talk about.”

“What things?” When he gets no reply, Tyler looks up to see Doggett walking away across the driveway.

“What things?” he shouts after him, but the DI simply waves a hand behind him.

The rain grows heavier and pelts down on the final remains of the Old Vicarage, dampening the last of the flames.

Tyler sits on the incident-room step and watches.

Acknowledgments

First, a big thank-you to the staff and students of Sheffield Hallam University’s graduate writing program. Many people helped get this project under way, but particular thanks to Daniel Blythe, for encouragement when I was at a low ebb; to Mike Harris, for teaching me how stories should work; and to Lesley Glaister, for encouraging me to find a story in the first place (and teaching me the expression “lying fallow”). A big thank-you, too, to the Dark Horseys—Kate Hainsworth, Len Horsey, and Helen Meller. Long may they ride!

Thanks to various coffee shops, pubs, and libraries, and to John Hunter for accompanying me to them. Special thanks to the Red Deer for giving both Adam and me a place to relax after work, and for putting up with me celebrating and drowning my sorrows (I’m not sure which is worse). Extra-special thanks to the booksellers and patrons of Waterstones Sheffield Orchard Square, Meadowhall, Derby, Doncaster, and Chesterfield. You’ve had to spend fifteen years listening to me talk about my book more than anybody else’s.