‘January twenty-third. Sylv expects a spike in solid leads within a week. All we have to do is close them.’

Sylv, I think. Definitely mates. Is this a triumph of optimism on Malo’s part? Or even Sylvester’s? Or might my son’s wildest dreams – of profile, of celebrity, of limitless wealth – really come to pass? Here and now, in a companionable corner of The Feathers, I could press the issue, play parental, but I know I’ve run out of energy.

My glass is empty. I’m looking at Malo.

‘Another?’ I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. ‘Please?’

By the time we get back to the bungalow, the poster has changed yet again. Instead of Clear the Budleigh Six, Mitch has decided on Support the Budleigh Six.

‘This has become an issue thing. We need to reflect that.’

‘Euthanasia? Mercy killings?’

‘Yeah, for sure. But police harassment, too. I was talking to the guy from the Sun just now. Say what you like about the tabloids, but they always cut straight to the chase. They’ve done the sums on Operation Bulldog. They reckon half a million quid already, and still climbing. Is that true? I doubt it, but who’s going to argue? Most people have given up on the police. Report a theft, or even some lowlife who breaks into your house, and fuck all happens. Yet here they are, burning through the budget, scooping up ex-ambassadors, ex-QCs, pillars of the community, just for doing a mate a favour? That has to be the allegation. That’s where it’s all heading. Worst case, you lot were guilty of helping a woman to the death she wanted. So, pardon me for asking, but where’s the big deal?’

This has the makings of a speech, and I wonder if Mitch is rehearsing for tomorrow night.

‘You’re going to chair this thing? Pull it all together? Keep it on the road?’

‘No.’ He shakes his head.

‘Beth, then?’ My heart sinks.

‘No way. She’s still pushing, but it won’t happen. I expect she’ll have her say, but she’ll be in the audience.’

‘With the groundlings?’ I laugh at the thought. ‘She’ll hate it.’

‘Too bad. This is a once-off. That’s not my phrase, by the way, it’s the woman from Palo Alto. We’ve really got her attention. They’re sending some video from the dead guy’s wife as we speak. That’ll go straight to the Guardian for tomorrow night’s presentation. How often do we get a chance to change the fucking law?’

I nod. I agree. But he still hasn’t answered my question. ‘Just who will be in charge tomorrow night?’

‘Evelyn.’ Mitch is looking down at me. ‘You ought to have a chat with her.’

THIRTY-EIGHT