Blanchard began to whimper and lowered his head, which made it easier. The shot sounded deafening, quite unlike the crack of a rural shotgun or bird-scarer. The mess was less than he had expected, a small amount of spray over the passenger seat towards which Blanchard’s body had slumped. Slater, his hands shaking, took another picture of the body. The money shot, worth a hundred thousand. Quickly he pulled out a lighter, and using a packet of tissues as tinder, set fire to the clothing and camping gear on the Honda’s back seat. He made sure that the windows were slightly open to enable the fire to breathe, and do its job of eradicating forensic clues. Walking rapidly, he headed back to Chieveley Services. He got there in ten minutes, crossing the fence well away from where the Citroën was parked. Job done, dosh earned.

Chapter Twenty-one

Friday

Thames Valley Police had been good and copied Gillard in on every aspect of their search for Arrowsmith: witness reports, interviews, DNA and fingerprint results. Almost all of this voluminous daily briefing appeared to be there for a reason, but occasionally there was an apparently random contribution. One such was the report that popped up on his email on Friday morning. It was about a burned-out car containing a body behind Chieveley motorway services on the M4. He’d skimmed the details, but paid no attention until he was sent an urgent email by DCI Nowak. He was standing in the CID gents at a urinal with his phone in his left hand when he read it, a bad habit of the overworked who think they have to make every moment earn its keep.

When he read the contents he gasped, and stopped mid-flow.

A sample from the body in the car matched Ozzy Blanchard’s DNA. And the body showed a bullet wound to the head. The elusive Ozzy was dead. And everything the victim knew might be lost for ever.

Gillard pocketed the phone and finished up, then washed his hands. He stared at himself in the mirror. In the harsh bathroom light he looked old, pale and defeated, outfoxed by events. He flicked the water off his fingers, then used a paper towel to grip the handle of the bathroom door as he exited, hurrying back into the fray with damp hands.