‘Yes, well, meantime just you rest, Mr Hepton. You’ve had a bit of a shock.’

‘I’m fine. But I’m telling you …’ He looked up at the policeman. A simple-looking face, disguising a simple-working mind. He shook his head. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Never mind.’

The duty doctor gave him a couple of tablets, but Hepton refused them. He didn’t need calming down, or cheering up. He didn’t require the proffered lift home. He was quite capable of driving himself.

Paul had given him a name: Argos. Perhaps the truth had been too obvious, too glaring, too outrageous. But now that he thought it over, it was quite true that the United States space shuttle Argos had been in space at the time Zephyr had malfunctioned. But Argos wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Zephyr’s orbit. It had been a thousand or more miles away, launching another satellite. With Dreyfuss on board, now its only survivor. A coincidence? Paul had given him that one word because he had suspected Argos of interfering with Zephyr in some way. One person would know for sure.

Dreyfuss.

But how the hell could Hepton get to him? There had to be some way. The Foreign Office, perhaps. Their people in the United States would have access to him, surely? That might mean a trip to London …

London.

Of course! Jilly would have been keeping in touch with him. Hepton just knew she would. Partly from friendship – mostly from friendship, even – but partly because she had a nose for a story, and Dreyfuss was news. That was that then: he’d pack a bag and head for London. But first there were more questions to be asked of him, more tea to be served up and drunk. Why garden twine? Why suicide? Why by hanging? Why in a cupboard? He kept his answers to himself. Garden twine was strong. It wasn’t suicide, but murder. Hanging to make it look like suicide. A cupboard to prevent the body being found too quickly.

Because Harry had known Hepton was on his way, and there hadn’t been much time. Not enough time for an overdose, and not enough time for an abduction. No one, of course, had seen anything. No one had heard anything No chair falling. No choking or kicking. It was a neat operation. Neat and tidy. Hepton couldn’t get Harry’s face out of his mind.

Eventually they had to let him go. He gave his address in Louth, got into his car and drove off at a steady pace, picking up speed only when he was out of the nursing home’s gates, picking up more and more speed until he caught himself doing seventy. Too fast on these roads. Braking, slowing. He didn’t want there to be any other accidents.