‘So that’s why he attacked those poor people? Because he’d murdered Ireland’s guy?’

‘That’s what the NCA believe, yeah. Which scuppers their operation against Ireland. But at least they get Penfold on two murder counts. Well, three now. And in the meantime my case is back at square one.’

It was Sarah’s turn to exhale. It was a lot of information to take in. Diamonds. Executions. Double-cross. Nothing Sarah had been expecting when she had taken Levy’s call thirty minutes earlier. Nor when Levy had classed the conversation as ‘personal’.

Sarah took a long sip of her wine as she processed the new material. Finally she had a question.

‘If this guy is capable of murder – and clearly he is – why does that rule him out for Longman and Blunt? What’s to stop him doing that and killing Ireland’s guy for the diamonds?’

‘NCA surveillance.’

Levy finished her own drink – hardly a mouthful – before continuing.

‘They’ve had him under surveillance for two weeks. Not twenty-four seven; he managed to lose them when he collected the diamonds and killed Ireland’s man – he was a bit more careful with his movements that day, for obvious reasons – but they were on him at the relevant times. So we know he wasn’t anywhere near Longman or Blunt on the nights they died.’

‘Shit.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Levy fidgeted with her empty glass as she continued. ‘Which takes us right back to the beginning. Penfold was the only real suspect we found by cross-referencing Blunt and Longman’s cases. Which means we’re back where we started, searching for a needle in Longman’s haystack of case files.’

Sarah sat back, slowly shaking her head from side to side. It was not a rejection of what Levy had said. It was despair.

They really are nowhere.

‘So it’s back to the three-file system?’ she finally asked.

‘Has to be,’ Levy replied. ‘What else is there?’

Sarah had no answer.

‘I guess there is one upside for you, though,’ Levy continued.

‘What’s that?’ Sarah asked, confused.

‘Well if it’s not Penfold, that means Michael’s friend Derek Reid’s no longer under threat.’

Sarah smiled.

Finally some good news in all of the bad.

FORTY-THREE

‘Have you ever been so bored in your life?’

The question was asked by Police Constable Richard Haye. He was twenty-two years of age, six foot seven and, as his colleague Police Constable Colin Moxon had noticed, seemed to lack anything resembling an imagination.

Making him the worst possible person with whom to be cooped up in a car for an eight-hour close-protection shift, Moxon thought.

Unlike Haye, Moxon had done this sort of thing before. Usually it involved staying close to a key witness before a trial. Only once before had it been to protect a potential imminent victim. In none of those cases had the protection ultimately proved necessary. Moxon did not doubt that the same would be true tonight.

‘Why don’t you step out of the car and stretch your legs?’ Moxon asked. As much for his own relief as for Haye’s.