Mason and Jack drove back to Chipping Norton together. ‘When I said you’d be invaluable to this end of the investigation, I wasn’t blowing smoke. I don’t really know what kind of a copper you are. But I do know what kind of a man you are. Finding Mulhern was . . . well, just hang on to those feelings of guilt and horror, because you’ll need them to catch this gang. You’ve got to feel in this job, Mason. Lee doesn’t, but you do. Guilt. Horror. Anything. Without feeling, there’s nothing pushing you on. Nothing that’s worth anything, anyway.’

By eight o’clock, Jack and Mason were in the bar of The Fox Hunters sipping their first pints of the evening. ‘So, who’s this inside man you were on about?’

‘Inside woman,’ Jack said with a smile, opening a packet of crisps.

‘Charlotte Miles has a smallholding and runs two businesses, a gardening and landscaping sort of set-up, and a fruit and veg delivery service. Her name crops up in every burglary, though to be fair, there’s a lot of names connected to every burglary; it’s a small, tangled community in that sense. But . . . on Mulhern’s kitchen table there was one of her delivery bags with a potted plant inside. She’s involved. I know she is.’

Mason, overwhelmed by his personal need for redemption, wanted to get over to Charlotte’s right now and bring her in. But Jack assured him that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Oaks joined them carrying a very cloudy-looking pint of cider and dragging a bar stool, as it was the only unoccupied seat left in the place. Oaks relayed all of the information that had just been sent through to him. ‘Jacob Mulhern: widower, two daughters, three grandkids. Nothing from his CCTV. It had been disconnected, but not in a “burglar” kind of way. It looked like Mulhern did it himself. His phone records show he was getting quotes to have all of his security replaced . . .’

Jack wrinkled his brows. Why was Mulhern updating his security?

Oaks was too focused on reading from his mobile to notice. ‘Post-mortem’s booked for first thing tomorrow morning, but initial observations are crushed skull leading to exsanguination.’ Oaks took a gulp of his cider, then picked a speck of apple from his tongue. ‘It’s a bit on the gritty side. Worth the effort though. Did you see Ronnie’s face when you said he could stay there? He’ll never see the outside of that station! He’ll be glued to a computer screen watching CCTV and doing PNC checks. He’ll bloody hate it!’

Oaks then excused himself and headed towards the toilets, but not before posing a couple of key questions to think about. ‘I wonder why they tortured him? What did they think he knew?’