Declan Costello was quietly watching everything that was happening, and he saw the way that Mrs Singh looked at Michael as she told him who she thought she had seen. He also saw Michael Flynn’s face drain of all its colour.

‘I hope I was wrong, Michael, but I really don’t think I was. Then I heard that your Jessie was missing.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I really don’t know if any of this is related. I just thought that you should know.’ She looked at Michael steadily, saying quietly, ‘I always wondered about it, Michael.’

Michael was shaking his head slowly. Declan could see he had been thrown by the woman’s revelations. It was absolutely amazing to witness this first-hand.

‘I never planned it, I swear. It should never have happened.’

Mrs Singh opened her arms wide, she was crying now. ‘I always knew that, Michael, I never doubted you.’

Michael enveloped the tiny woman in his arms, hugging her to him tightly, and she hugged him back. Declan watched with disbelief. He knew one thing, though – he should have brought these two together at the start, when she first rang them, asking for Michael Flynn, instead of fobbing her off. He had a terrible feeling that this might be too late now.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty

Chapter One Hundred
and Twenty

Declan opened the door to his penthouse, and stood aside to allow Michael to enter before him. Once inside he shut the door and locked it. He followed Michael into the lounge, turning on the lights as he went.

Michael was standing by the patio doors that led out on to a large terrace. He was looking over London, and Declan left him to it for a while, going into his kitchen – a large airy room, twenty feet by sixteen – and pouring them each a large drink. The kitchen was state of the art; the cooker alone wouldn’t have looked out of place in an expensive restaurant. Not that he had ever used it, of course, just like the American-style fridge or the two dishwashers. He made instant coffee and a slice of toast at a push. The black granite work surfaces he used as a bar. He didn’t care to use the gadgets, but he liked to own them; they gave the place class.

He brought the drinks into the lounge, and he passed one to Michael. ‘So, Mrs Singh? Nice lady.’

Michael tossed his drink back in one. ‘How long was she trying to get hold of me, Declan?’