Neville Rollason’s fake identity was neat and flawless, utterly professional. It was not the result of some cunning sleight of hand by the prisoner himself or any of his associates. It was far too comprehensive for that.

It was created by a senior officer in Special Branch, under instruction from the Home Office. The British state that had jailed him was now slipping him back, invisibly, into society.

Thank you.

Chapter Two

2 a.m. Saturday, 22 June 2019

Michael Jakes liked to cycle down to the river during the summer nights, but the summer solstice was always special. There were a lot of thoughts that he needed to get straight, and somehow he couldn’t make sense of them in the daytime. But in the coolness after midnight, with the shade of the trees above him, he’d pedal miles along the southern bank through Hurst Meadows park near Walton-on-Thames. Although it was part of London’s south-west suburbs, and still within the great arc of the M25, the park felt far more rural and tranquil than its location might indicate.

There he would lie down and listen to the sounds of the waters, the ripples and the rills, the raucous noise of the ducks and geese foraging on the grass. There were narrowboats moored here too. From them came the sound of laughter or music, muted lights, and often nearby the silhouettes of lovers, drawn to the water. Just before two, with the dew beginning to soak through to his back, he stood and clambered back on his bike. He set off to complete his circuit, riding past East Molesey Cricket Club, across Hampton Court Bridge, then along the north bank on Hampton Court Road, a permanent daytime traffic jam and never quiet even in the small hours. On a whim, he turned off across the narrow bridge to Tagg’s Island in search of solitude. He’d not been onto the private island for years, and was surprised that, beyond the houseboats that ringed the shoreline, there were many wooden homes, some quite luxurious. In the distance he could faintly hear many voices, laughter and music. A party. He abandoned his plans to explore any further, turned off his head-torch and sat on a small grassy hillock by the water’s edge. The sky was mottled with clouds but stars were faintly visible.

Perfectly peaceful.

A splash came from his right. A big ‘thwock’ like someone diving in from a high board.