He was still gripping the folder. He turned the page. The next sheet was laid out like a report, on paper headed ‘Watson Insurance Fraud Investigators’, and next to that it said, ‘Page 3 of 5’. This page was a subtle blue too.

Page 3 started like there was a chunk missing. It made no sense at first, increasing his frustration, worsening the thumping in his chest. His eyes raced ahead to pick out thick blocks of black ink where words had been crossed out. He took a breath and forced himself to start from the first word:

CA was the owner of the vehicle. He is well connected and well known locally and was able to apply pressure to persons in a manner that the police would not be able to do. Specifically, he obtained information from …

Here was the first black strip, and another followed shortly after

who was the landlord of …

Another thick black strip.

‘What the hell is this?’ Richard flicked another look around the interior. But there were no answers there. He continued to read.

We always believed that the identity of the driver was well known in local circles. What was unclear was why his name was so well protected. It was initially suggested that he was a rival for CA and his car was targeted specifically. This has been found not to be the case.

The driver of the vehicle that caused the death of Angela Maddox is now known to be …

Richard took a sharp intake of breath when he saw the name, and the thump in his chest was at its worse yet. He needed to breathe, to relax. But relaxing was now the furthest thing from his mind. He had a name: the man who had killed his wife, the man who had taken his life away from him at the same time. When he said that name again it was forced through a jaw locked tightly shut.

‘Daniel Evans.’

Chapter 27

A few hours earlier

The first thing Danny was aware of was the pulsing light. There was no pattern to it, no reason for it. He was angry, confusion made him angry, furious even that he didn’t know what the light was. Every pulse came with a high-pitched ticking sound so that even when he closed his eyes to the pain of the glare he couldn’t get away from it. The fog in his mind was slow to clear but he was becoming more aware.

There was a taste in his mouth. It was artificial, strong enough to be overpowering and nothing like the normal taste when he woke up after a heavy session.

Aniseed perhaps? He tried to swallow. He couldn’t close his mouth. Why couldn’t he close his mouth?