Chapters (38)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-one
- Chapter Twenty-two
- Chapter Twenty-three
- Chapter Twenty-four
- Chapter Twenty-five
- Chapter Twenty-six
- Chapter Twenty-seven
- Chapter Twenty-eight
- Chapter Twenty-nine
- Epilogue
- Afterword
- Next in Series
- Canelo Crime
- Newsletter
- About the Author
- Also by Nick Louth
‘No, I think not. According to the family liaison officer, Mrs Arrowsmith had propped up a stepladder against the back fence behind the shed where it couldn’t be seen, and when her husband was released from hospital they climbed the fence and into an adjacent cul-de-sac. Thames Valley thinks they may have taken a taxi. She’s of Italian extraction and they’ve got some bolthole in Italy, so wouldn’t be surprised if that’s where they are heading.’
‘Do you need any help from me?’
‘I don’t think so. Nowak’s team has notified all the nearest airports and the ferry ports. I don’t think they’ve got false ID. There was a big series of cash withdrawals across Mrs Arrowsmith’s various bank accounts yesterday, so it has clearly been planned. Every other part of the raid is going ahead as expected. It will be weeks if not months before we know the full extent of the fraud, but we can now be sure that Arrowsmith was a major part of it.’
She hung up. Some things were falling into place. The Ticketts were double-crossed by Arrowsmith and Blanchard. The two water company employees had different strategies to cope with the unravelling of the fraud. Blanchard had disappeared, while Arrowsmith cast himself as gamekeeper, not poacher. All this made sense as far as it went. But what about Rissington Man, killed by an Anglo-Saxon blade in a room in Rev Matt Cleaver’s house? The mysterious young man, murdered, buried, then dug up, moved and reburied to be discovered again. How did that fit in?
Chapter Twenty
Earlier that afternoon
Ray Slater was sweating as he headed north towards the M4. He was in his Nissan, following in the satnav cradle a trace from one of the phones he’d sold to Vicky Willow. He’d already watched her leave the pub at half-three in the afternoon, get into her aged Citroën C3 and drive away. Leaving a few minutes later, dressed in a subtle wig, stained overalls and engineer’s boots, he followed. The Google map of her position appeared on his own satnav, so he didn’t have to keep her in sight. She was a smart and perceptive woman and might recognise his car.