Kelly already knew from the helicopter passenger list that the man who chartered the private helicopter wasn’t Lord Reilly, but Bartholomew Kennedy-Craig. It wasn’t unusual for Tories to jaunt around with millionaires, but why this one, she wondered. It would be looked into, of course, by the AAIB, as part of their inquiries. Kelly’s part in the drama was thankfully over. Her curious nature wanted to know the answers, though. Helicopter crashes were fairly rare but the damn things were death traps, and Johnny had reiterated this. No one in the army trusted them, but that was probably more to do with their rival corps that flew them: the RAF. One had to be a pure-bred lover of thrills to learn to master one. The pilots would be looked into as well, and she felt thankful again that it was out of her hands. Lord Reilly had a wife and two grown-up children, who’d flown in to Carlisle to be with him at the Penrith and Lakes hospital. She hoped the old guy made it. There were two sides to every investigation: finding out the truth, and the human tragedy that unfolded after the event. Apparently, Lord Reilly had suffered burns to 90 per cent of his body and was being cared for on a bed of specially designed material that supported his delicate flesh with air pads, so the wounds didn’t adhere to material. It always amazed her how advanced medical technology was, but behind all the learning and techniques was a litany of misery. The thousands of ways a body could be burned was just the tip of the iceberg.

She settled back into her wingback chair, noting the fuzzy feeling spread through her body. She never wanted to leave, but she knew that some poor sod had been tasked with driving her home tonight and she dragged herself up, excusing herself, to go and check on her ride.

The air outside was bitter and she thought she felt snow on the way. The lights from the inn lit the surrounding area, but beyond that there was just blackness, except for the tiny twinkle of lights on the mountainside. If she didn’t know better, it could have been some night hike for Christmas lighting up the crags, but the sad fact was that it was a terrible scene up there. She put her hand out to feel the air and a few crystals of ice melted in her palm. If it snowed tonight, it would hamper the clean-up effort. She walked to the only police car in the parking area where a young lad sat in the driving seat. He put his window down as she approached and she introduced herself.