She ended the call, by now somewhat drained, and there was Andrew, a glass of wine in his hand.

‘Here you are, Mum. Dutch courage. And open bottles of wine don’t last for ever, you know, even in the fridge.’

‘Maybe I should save it until after I’ve spoken to the detective inspector. I reckon I’ll be needing it then.’

Andrew grinned. ‘You’ve done the right thing, Mum.’

‘Patsy agrees, and she’s sensible. She was going to suggest it herself.’ She sat down on the nearest kitchen stool. Her face clouded over. ‘What are we going to tell Callum?’

‘He thinks you two are a team, so bring him in on it. He’s no fool, Mum. For his age, he’s pretty canny. You’ve come this far together, and you can’t shut him out now.’ He gave her shoulder a nudge. ‘If anything comes up that you think is unsuitable, give me a nod and I’ll suggest we leave you with the inspector for a while and join you again later.’

‘My hero,’ she said, dangerously close to tears. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

‘So am I! Without me around to keep you on the straight and narrow, who knows what would have happened. Secret societies, indeed.’ He shuddered dramatically.

Annie suddenly felt a rush of affection for her lovely son, and a massive relief at handing it all over to someone who actually knew what to do with it. ‘It’s all right, Andrew. I’ll hang up the mask and tight pants. My work here is done. Let the professionals take over.’

* * *

The heavy clouds and driving rain made it feel like late evening when Jackman and Marie arrived back at the station. As they raced, heads down, across the car park and into the building, Marie gasped, ‘I just hope this keeps our killer out of action tonight.’

Jackman stamped his feet to shake off the drops. ‘I guess it depends entirely on his endgame, and whether he’s following a strict schedule.’

They hurried upstairs and Marie went off to get some hot drinks. They were staying late to go through all the information Annie Carson and her son had provided.

Spread out on the desk lay a ream of papers and a spiral-bound notebook with a Tardis on the front. Jackman smiled. He’d leafed through it while he waited for Marie to return with coffee and had been most impressed. In fact, he wished that some police officers were as meticulous as this twelve-year-old boy. Dates, times and observations had been listed, followed by references to details he had followed up later on the computer. When Marie arrived with the drinks, he pushed it across the desk to her. ‘Take a look. I’m thinking of writing to his careers master suggesting he go into CID.’