It was one in the morning when he finally sloped off to bed. He knew he’d sleep like a log, and not just because he was drunk.

For the first time in ages he was happy rather than sad. And he actually felt glad to be alive because he now knew that he was going to even the score with the Met – and in doing so fulfil his dying wish.

PART THREE

54

Laura

Sunday dawned cold and bright. From the window of Aidan’s room it looked like the start of a summer’s day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and it was difficult to believe that Christmas was fast approaching. And what a wretched Christmas it was going to be.

Fortunately I’d managed to sleep for a couple of hours sitting up in the chair. My troubled thoughts tried to keep me awake, but they were no match for the wave of sheer exhaustion that eventually pulled me under.

I had time to go to the loo and rinse my face before Aidan surfaced. He looked much better. Some colour had returned to his cheeks and he seemed more alert. But at the same time he was clearly feeling sorry for himself. It made me glad that I hadn’t yet told him about the miscarriage.

I called his parents who were staying in a nearby Premier Inn and got him to talk to them. He asked them to bring him some chocolate when they came to visit and it made me smile. It was a sure sign that he was on the mend.

I didn’t break the news to him about the murder of the Commissioner until the nurse had changed his dressing and the doctor had examined his wound.

The news shocked him, of course, and he asked me lots of questions, most of which I couldn’t answer.

‘It’s why I stayed here all night again,’ I said. ‘I just couldn’t bring myself to leave you.’

I told him about going to the house and the extent of the damage.

‘I’ll pop back today to see what’s changed,’ I said. ‘But I intend to bed down at mum’s, at least until you’re discharged.’

I phoned my mother while Aidan drank a cup of tea and ate a biscuit. The latest murder had upset her deeply and she began to sob.

‘I know what his poor family is going through,’ she said. ‘We went through it ourselves after your father was killed.’

My brain took me back to the weeks and months after Dad died and I remembered what a nightmare it was. The grief and pain and anger that made it so hard to function.

‘I’m so scared, Laura,’ my mother said. ‘For myself, for you, for everyone. Surely the police with all their people and resources should be able to stop it.’