‘From what you know, Detective Superintendent Grace, what percentage chance would you put on Bruno making a recovery? One hundred per cent? Fifty per cent? Twenty-five per cent? One per cent? Less than one per cent?’

He was silent for a long while. ‘Less than one per cent,’ he said finally.

‘During the course of your career so far, how many suspects have you let go on the balance of a less than one per cent probability that they were innocent?’

For the first time in several hours he smiled, albeit bleakly.

At that moment the door opened and Imelda Bray, accompanied by the transplant coordinator, Charlotte Elizabeth, came in.

‘How are you both feeling?’ Imelda Bray asked.

Grace looked up at her. ‘Pretty awful,’ he said, picking up the pen that had accompanied the forms, signing and dating them. He handed them to the coordinator. ‘I think I’ve signed everywhere you indicated.’

She checked them through briefly. ‘Yes, you have, thank you.’

The counsellor said gently, ‘Let’s try to focus now not on your loss, but on all the good your generous decision will give. You’ll need to grieve and we are here to provide you with all the help and support you will need. For now, would you like to come in and say goodbye to Bruno?’

Grace turned to Cleo for confirmation. She gave it with a single nod and a grim smile.

They both stood up.

65

Wednesday 4 September

A few minutes later, feeling like his shoes had lead soles, Roy walked with Cleo through into the Intensive Care Unit. They followed Bray and Elizabeth along past three occupied beds and stopped at the curtains surrounding Bruno. They were ushered in and heard the swish of fabric closing behind them.

Grace stared down at his son, who was looking tinier than ever amid all the apparatus, and felt a knot in his stomach at the sight of him now dressed in the red shirt and shorts of his beloved Bayern Munich football team strip. A large white T with four small white squares, and two smaller emblems, were on the shirt, and the emblems were repeated on the shorts.

Bruno’s eyes were closed and he looked, as before, pale and peaceful. His hair was a tousled mess. Roy Grace bent down and kissed him on the forehead and Cleo did the same.

‘Hey, chap,’ he said. ‘Cleo and I are here. Can you hear us?’

Bruno showed no reaction, and nor, from what Grace could see, did any of the digital displays. It was as if he was in a deep, peaceful sleep.

‘Hey, chap!’ he said again, louder. Desperate at this last minute for some sign to show that Bruno was reacting to them, that he still had brain activity, that he might yet, against all the odds, pull through.

But nothing changed.

Some minutes later Imelda Bray indicated for them to follow her back outside.

Along with Charlotte Elizabeth, they walked along the unit, past other patients in their beds, and stopped by the nursing station, well out of earshot of Bruno.