Quill called Costain from the morgue, having had a vague memory of seeing him on what already felt like a dream of one side of that bridge he’d crossed. Thankfully, the DS had been expecting the call and arrived an hour later in an unmarked van. His left hand was bandaged, but only to the extent of a minor wound. By then, Quill had been given some clothes by still-astonished morgue staff who had started to assume they must have made some enormous clerical error and were probably about to be sued. Quill immediately told Costain not to call Sarah, having already talked to the morgue authorities on that subject. He had no idea how he was going to tell her he was back, was desperately restraining his own urge to call her, to go immediately to see her, because he wanted somehow to moderate how big a shock that was going to be.

He looked at his hands. He kept wanting to touch his body. He expected to feel traumatized, but it was as if his time in Hell had been filed away by his brain as being something like a dream. He felt abused on some distant, deeply internal level and was aware that this might come out and haunt him at some point. But at least for now it was absent.

He asked about how he’d come back, what Costain had had to do with it. Costain told him: about the relationship between himself and Ross, about the details of the auction that Ross hadn’t revealed, about him committing burglary to get the Bridge. He unburdened himself of all the terrible shit that he hadn’t shared with his colleagues. Quill had to sit down. He couldn’t imagine how this was going to make Ross feel. He felt angry on her behalf, and his own – actually infuriated at this man who’d just saved him from Hell. Dear God, that was Costain all over. ‘Why did you choose me to bring back?’

‘Ross’ father coming back still wouldn’t make her happy. She even told me that.’

‘Why not keep it for yourself?’

Costain looked annoyed at being questioned. He looked as if he’d expected something more from Quill. ‘Because I want all of us to stay alive, and you’re our only chance to do that. If the truth behind what you wrote in your notebook is as important as Sefton thinks it is—’

‘Well, I know who’s responsible for the Ripper murders.’

‘Russell Vincent?’