Jake hangs up and starts to search for more information about Capgras: case studies, related delusions like Fregoli (different people are in fact a single person who changes his or her appearance), but something’s still nagging him about Rob. He’s just not sure what. He begins to google him, repeating a search he’s done many times in recent months. Brought up by two doctors in Douglas, Cork, entered the Sunday Times Irish Rich List when he was twenty-three. Always considered a bit of a loner. After a few minutes, Jake is on the Companies House website, looking at a list of all Rob’s directorships: technology start-ups, mostly medical, an online art gallery. He’s been here before and found nothing suspicious. The only controversy was when he briefly invested in a company that made electric-shock collars for training dogs. The product was banned before it even hit the shelves.

This time, though, a new company is listed, the one mentioned in the news report. He pastes its name into a separate Google tab, calls up the website and clicks on ‘About’. The company appears to specialise in something called ‘direct neural interface technology’. It’s currently raising capital for electrodes implanted in the brain that can help to operate artificial limbs or control epilepsy.

A window asks him to accept cookies. He clicks on it and is about to drill down further into the site when he notices a green LED light on Bex’s computer, just to the right of the camera. He’s sure it wasn’t on a moment ago. His first thought is that maybe Bex does a lot of facetiming and someone’s calling her. But FaceTime isn’t open. He closes the company website, quits Chrome and backs away from the computer. The light is still on, the camera watching him.

34

Kate

‘You go on ahead,’ Hart says, calling out to them. ‘See where he goes.’

Kate’s walking fast beside Strover. They glance at each other and both slip into a run. Hart’s heavy breathing fades behind them.

‘This really isn’t part of my Cornwall retirement plan,’ Kate says as they stride out together on the coast path.

‘You do the identifying, let us do the rest,’ Strover says. ‘Just like the old days.’

Kate’s glad she’s been getting fit. As well as the swimming, she’s tried to run two or three times a week, on the same stretch of coast path as they’re on now. Strover seems fit too, though she’s not exactly in running gear. Light trousers and those telltale sensible black shoes that only plainclothes cops seem to wear.

‘I’ve lost him,’ Strover says, coming to a halt. ‘Can you still see him?’