For the first time in his life he considered killing himself.

Chapter Thirteen

Claire Mulholland’s warnings about Gillard being targeted had hit home. The detective chief inspector rarely had any worries about his own safety, but his thoughts always turned to Sam. They had been trying to sell their home for many months now, partly to get away from his annoying aunt, but also to move away from the Chipstead area closer to Guildford, where most of his work was now based. It wouldn’t be the first time someone connected with a case had discovered where he and Sam lived. He made a mental note to suggest to Sam that they drop the price again, to generate more interest in their home. He was sure she would agree.

Missing her, he tried to ring her extension in the police control room, but it went to voicemail. She was almost always on the line, and wouldn’t be finished for another couple of hours. The way his ear and cheek were throbbing he quite felt like going home early, perhaps to make her a surprise meal. It was a rarity for him to be home before her, but something she always loved. He had just about made up his mind to ask DI Perry to cover for him in the ongoing search for the Mitsubishi Warrior that evening, when he was summoned by email to the office of Alison Rigby.

He groaned inwardly, and made his way out of the CID building into Mount Browne’s historic redbrick building. Rigby was dressed informally, and peering at her screen through reading glasses. ‘Come in, Craig. How are your injuries?’ she asked, peering at the dressing on his ear.

‘It’s not too bad. I’ll live.’

‘I’m not going public on the details of this assault against you. Although it almost certainly was a targeted attack, I’d prefer not to confirm that one of our officers was a victim. But I strongly suggest you recheck all of your personal security assumptions. You tangled with an Albanian crime gang a year or so ago, and it might be possible that this is associated with them. They would certainly have the resources.’

‘Possibly. However, that would not fit with our assumptions about the Beatrice Ulbricht abduction, and the falsified rail journey.’

The chief constable shrugged. ‘The investigation is well resourced already. But if you feel you need more, do let me know. We can tack it on the end of the Ulbricht budget that the Home Office has allowed me. Speaking of which.’ She looked up at him from her desk, a brief flash of the infamous blue stare. ‘We seem to be making progress in most aspects of this sprawling case, except on the murder of Beatrice. Herr Ulbricht rings me most days. It’s a call I have to take.’

‘I think you know we are doing our very best, ma’am,’ Gillard responded.

‘Perhaps you could write me a summary report.’

‘Yes ma’am.’

‘No hurry, Craig. Any time this evening will be fine.’