George Fellows made a call to Vivienne Kennedy-Craig on a phone purchased from the Tesco Express at the services on the M6. He kept another phone for his calls to young Fabian, which were fewer, but kept the young heir sweet. The speed of the investigation into the crash had shaken him. That and Nellie’s call to his private number. It was only a matter of time before the trail led to him. Thus his panicked buying of new burner phones every day. As a private investigator to the Kennedy-Craig family for almost twelve years, getting the job done was George’s priority. He was an ex-copper, who’d become disillusioned by the red tape that prevented real criminals from being caught. Flitting between masters wasn’t his style and he answered only to Vivienne now. She was his paymaster, but he was acutely aware that power was fickle, and Fabian could take the upper hand at any moment. But for now, she was the one who had connections to the social care board deciding the future of his daughter’s situation. And that was his number one priority. He took Fabian’s money, but that too came from his mother. The cash promised by Fabian had been deposited in the Amazon drop box at Penrith train station, but what Fabian didn’t know was that he’d been in the Lake District since last week, on Vivienne’s instructions. The last time he’d spoken to Bart was Monday morning, when the businessman had told him that he was diverting on a sightseeing trip for a friend, on the AW139 he’d hired to play with for the weekend.

Fate was a fickle thing, and now he had to pick up all the pieces. The problem with plans was that they never survived contact with actual people. He should have seen it coming. Reilly was never supposed to have been on the fucking helicopter. But there was little he could do now.

Vivienne spoke tersely, meaning she wasn’t alone.

‘Busy?’ he asked.

‘I’d love to do tea soon!’ she replied.

George stood pacing from foot to foot in the freezing snow, having not packed appropriately for the Lake District. He got the gist: she was with her son.

‘It’s all in order. Things are progressing the way we discussed,’ he said simply.

‘Marvellous, darling,’ Vivienne purred.

They hung up.

George looked around and took in his surroundings. Like any migratory mammal, he scanned for any imminent risk and quickly made decisions on where and when he was safe. However, unlike the habits of more social beasts, his were solitary, and the key to his success was remaining unattached. He pulled his wool coat around his body and tightened his gloves and straightened his wool hat over his brow. It was fucking freezing. And it was still snowing.