‘And frankly, that’s probably not going to come from anyone in Warchester unless I can get inside the barracks … which is about as possible as teleporting myself there, as I told Jonas about eighty thousand times last night.’

‘How do you know he was being protected?’ I say, squinting at 197the slicks of wax bringing definition to his hair, one spike after another.

‘Ah, now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?’ He folds his arms as he slouches into his seat. ‘Except a version of it is leaking everywhere I bloody look. Jaqlin must be hell bent on sinking the Ministry of Defence over this. Every police gobshite in town is whispering in some hack’s ear.’

‘But if you’ve got a source in the police…’ I trail off as he glares at me.

‘Who said that? I never said that, did I?’

I shrink into my seat. As the trolley disappears through the doors at the back, I spot the young mother dabbing her eyes as steam clouds her face, head darting in our direction.

‘The question is,’ he continues after a moment, almost to himself, ‘how do I get myself inside the barracks? And by inside, I mean into the past. Anyone there now will be useless unless there’s a familial or regimental link of some sort.’

I turn to the window, watching meadows turn into sky then back into meadows again as my eyes drift up and down. The truth hovers like the sun’s haze blurring the horizon.

‘What about round Victory Field,’ I say, imagining my words as the wisps of cloud floating across the otherwise clear sky. ‘There must be community pubs round there. Army loyalists, sure, but that also means we might find someone connected inside.’

‘You don’t get that from Google Earth,’ he says with a frown. ‘Have you got anything else you want to tell me? All this from the venerable coffers of the Deptford Gazette? Or a field trip to the Essex coast for your geography exams?’

‘I was on the copy desk,’ I say, fiddling with the rim of the table. ‘People misspell Warchester a lot. It sinks in after a while.’ I feel his eyes on my head as I pluck at the lip of rubber fringing the window frame.

‘I might yet get somewhere with social services,’ he says after a 198moment. ‘One lead’s on the cusp of coming good, and loads more of them will have been involved—’

‘You won’t,’ I interrupt, heart starting to race as I think about Julie. Anything not to bring her into this. She’s only ever tried to do right by both of us, and put herself on the line countless times in the process. ‘No one from there will talk. They’ll be legally bound to the eyeballs, knotted up all over the place.’