His early career was based out of Yeovilton Air Station forty miles away from his wife and children in Salisbury. In 2013 he was the Commanding Officer of 814 Naval Air Squadron based at Royal Naval Air Station Culdrose in Cornwall, 150 miles further away from his family home. That would put a strain on any marriage. They had separated in late 2015, not long after Harry’s promotion to captain. Harry then moved to work at Northwood on the outskirts of London. He had been working for Rear Admiral Grey since summer 2016, which was around the time that Caroline took up her position as a consultant anaesthetist at Luton and Dunstable Hospital and moved with their children to St Albans. According to Karene, Harry had purchased a house nearby so that he could see the children as often as possible. St Albans was a mere thirteen miles from Northwood. Bloom wondered if Harry regretted the strain his job had put on his marriage and his relationship with his children. Perhaps that was why he’d made sure to be as close as possible over the past year.

He had been dating Karene for nearly eighteen months. The honeymoon period had passed so Karene should have a fairly accurate idea of Harry’s character, especially considering her profession. Jameson was right that love can make you susceptible to lies, but those rose-tinted glasses tended to clear, certainly within a year or so.

Harry’s life had changed significantly over the past four years. He was now a divorced man living apart from his children and in a new relationship with Karene. He had left his life as a pilot and moved into a more strategic role, desk-based and no doubt dominated by meetings and negotiations as opposed to the thrill of active operations. Had he grown bored or frustrated and looked for excitement in the wrong place, with the wrong people?

When was he last deployed? Operation Weald. The international search and rescue mission Jameson had told her about. She reviewed her notes on the operation. It had been an eighty-day mission from mid-April 2015 until early July, off the coast of Italy, searching for migrants crossing from Libya. Three Merlin helicopters had helped to recover over 2,900 migrants from the sea. She brought up the picture of the postcard on Julian Peterson’s noticeboard.

To help or to hinder. Your choice.

Karene’s mystery emailer had sent a similar question about Harry: does he help or hinder? Bloom knew there was something here. It was a clue. But what did it mean?

Over the course of her career, Bloom had kept the numbers of every police officer, barrister, prosecutor and client she had ever worked with. She scrolled through them now, looking for the one person she knew could help them. When she found the number she was looking for, she typed out a short message but she didn’t send it. She placed her phone on the table and closed her eyes.