And was greeted by the sheepish smile of his former colleague and, until recently, one of the most capable detectives on his team.

Guy Batchelor, with his burly physique, rose from a chair.

Some while ago, the Detective Sergeant had totally lost the plot when a woman he’d been having an affair with, and to whom he had apparently made all kinds of promises about a future together, had trapped him in a web of lies. It had resulted, if Batchelor was telling the truth, in a furious row, in which, through an escalating chain of events, she’d ended up dead in a bathtub, and he’d panicked. In the ensuing downward spiral, the DS had attempted to commit suicide and Roy had risked his own life trying to stop him.

Throughout his life – and career – Grace had always been prepared to see the best in people. He believed, with some exceptions, that most human beings were fundamentally decent, and that it was stuff beyond their control, whether abusive parents in their childhood or something that happened later in their lives, that skewed them onto the wrong path.

So when Guy had made contact saying he wanted to see him because he had something that might be of value to him, Roy had decided he would see him, both because he was intrigued by what Guy might have to say, but also just to talk to him. And because maybe, in some small way, he could help this man who had ruined his own life and the lives of others in a period of madness.

All the same, he was here with some reservations.

It was just like any other interview room. A metal table, hard chairs, wide-angle CCTV camera up near the ceiling. A red notebook sitting on the table.

‘I’ll be outside,’ Andrew Kempson said. ‘I’ll be back in an hour but shout if you need me.’

‘I doubt that will be necessary,’ Grace said.

Kempson gave him a ‘you never know’ shrug, and shut the door, more softly than some officers might have.

4

Sunday 1 September

Roy Grace shook Batchelor’s hand, trying to mask his surprise at his appearance. The former DS had aged a decade since he’d last seen him in court. And one of the things that was different about him was that he no longer reeked of cigarette smoke.

‘So, how are you, Guy?’ Grace felt so many conflicting emotions, actually seeing him. Batchelor had once been a family man and a highly respected detective. Grace knew that for the rest of Guy’s life, the knowledge of what had happened and the guilt would haunt his dreams and his every waking thought. It would never leave him. And what future lay ahead for him, once he walked out of the prison gates, he couldn’t even begin to guess at.

‘Yeah, all right actually. A lot better since I was moved here. Lewes was a real shithole. Five days confined to my room because there weren’t enough officers. No shower or change of clothes. It’s OK here, I can cope.’