It was Steven Golding’s complete disregard for the consequences of his actions that truly bothered Timothy Branch. His was the mindset of a terrorist, someone whose only aim in life was to carry out the duty required of them, regardless of their own safety. It was only about the end game. This man Golding didn’t seem to have an agenda that any of them could understand – there wasn’t room for bargaining; he honestly didn’t seem to want anything of value from any of them. He was only interested in hitting Michael Flynn where it hurt. All he seemed to want was revenge. That was the only thing this could be about – not that Michael Flynn had been very forthcoming about his dealings with the man in the past. But he had read the man’s medical reports, knew that his family had been wiped out in a fire – a fire that had been started deliberately. It didn’t take an Albert fucking Einstein to work out that Michael Flynn had been involved in that shit somewhere along the line. Branch had been around long enough to suss out what was really going on, but it wasn’t in his interests to pursue this train of thought – he knew when to leave well alone.

‘I’ve had your mother’s body taken to the morgue, and I have hushed it up for the moment, but you have to understand, Michael, I can’t sit on this for too long. None of the neighbours saw anything – it was very fast. And, from what I can gather, your mum wasn’t a woman who encouraged her neighbours’ friendships, if you get my drift.’

Michael laughed wryly. ‘You got that right. My mother was the female equivalent of Jack the Giant Killer. She saw most people in her orbit as completely fucking useless ponces. She wasn’t known for her sparkling personality.’

Declan Costello could detect the catch in Michael’s voice underneath his bravado. He had loved his mother, in spite of everything. She wasn’t a woman who encouraged displays of affection, but she had loved her son too.

Timothy Branch was aware of Hannah Flynn’s reputation as a woman of limited patience; it was well known she had a tongue in her head and she used it to her advantage. He sighed. ‘Look, Michael, the bottom line is, this bloke is either very fucking clever, or very fucking lucky. In all my years on the force I have never seen anything like it. He’s obviously watched you for a while and he’s aware of your daily routine. How else could he know so much? One thing I do know, though, is he’s not that far away. I’d say that he’s operating from within an hour’s journey of your house. He has to be. It stands to reason.’