Later that morning Harriet met Alan on the concrete apron outside the Out Store. He looked up as she approached.
‘Any news from Judd?’
‘Yes,’ she replied quietly, ‘just checked my emails. No possibility of cross-contamination. All the other material the lab’s working on, is Inuit stuff from Alaska, Canada and Greenland. It’s a big US–Canadian project into historical migration patterns in the High Arctic.’
‘So no chance of contamination from Ireland or Turkey then?’
‘None.’ She was looking anxious now: ‘So where does that leave us?’
‘We either have to accept the results…’
‘Don’t worry,’ she cut in, ‘I haven’t changed my mind again. If anything I’m even more convinced… but I’ve been thinking and there is one other possible explanation.’
He was perplexed.
‘Do you think,’ she continued, ‘it could have been something to do with the chaos when Simon dumped two vanloads of stuff on Clara and we all had to move boxes, bags and plans to our own offices and the Out Store?’
‘Yes, that’s what I was thinking about, when I mentioned the Finds Store last night. Normally Clara has everything under control. But not then. Nobody could have controlled everything then. It was panic stations.’
‘I know Clara couldn’t cope.’ Harriet said, ‘At least not to her complete satisfaction. And she told me as much, a couple of days ago.’
‘But even so,’ Alan replied, ‘it’s hard to get whole boxes confused. For a start all the bone boxes are clearly labelled in your and Amy’s handwriting. Hers is very distinctive…’
‘And not very legible?’
‘Yes, that’s true. But it couldn’t be anyone else’s. That’s the point.’
‘And you’re quite sure the boxes you opened on that Tuesday morning after Easter were in my and Amy’s writing?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the right site code?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m absolutely certain,’ Alan replied. ‘At the time, I remember being aware there’d been that panic a few days earlier, so I took extra care.’
Alan distinctly recalled double-checking everything very carefully.
‘You’re right,’ she replied. ‘If there had been mix-ups they’d have been with entire boxes, not the contents of boxes.’
She was looking troubled. Frowning. He continued.
‘I can say, hand on heart, that I took the Saltaire samples from the correct numbered and labelled boxes and that the boxes all carried the Guthlic’s Site Code. I’m absolutely one hundred per cent certain of that.’
They moved behind the store building and leaned against a stack of pallets. There was a short silence, while Alan allowed the implications of what they’d just said to sink in. He knew the following discussion would need to be handled sensitively. He was the first to speak:
‘It seems to me we’ve done all we can by way of indirect investigation. We’ve ruled out contamination on site, muddle at Saltaire and here at Priory Farm…’
‘At least when the boxes were in our offices under our direct control,’ she cut in. ‘But there’s no knowing what might have been going on in the Out Store, is there?’
‘Surely you’re not suggesting that Clara tampered with them, are you?’
Alan was surprised at this.
‘Of course, I’m not. All I’m saying is that the Out Store is the only place where any possible contamination might have happened. I’m just talking theoretical possibilities here. I’m not pointing the finger.’
‘OK. No, that’s fair. But it seems to me we can’t go much further along that route, other, that is, than ask Clara directly if she noticed anything odd when she returned to work after Easter – that’s the obvious next step.’
Her reply surprised him:
‘I’ve already done that. First thing, over coffee this morning…’
‘And?’
Harriet shrugged.
‘She just looked at me blankly. It was worth a thousand excuses.’
Alan felt a sharp pang of admiration for Harriet. No messing about, she’d got straight to the point. He was unsure whether he’d have the courage to challenge Clara quite so openly.
Harriet continued, focused on the problem.
‘It seems to me that the only sources of new information which we still control are the bones themselves…’
‘Exactly.’ He paused. ‘Maybe you can help me, as my memory’s a bit rusty, but when I did the Forensics Course we learned about tests to see if bones are ancient or modern. I can’t remember much about them, except that one was based around fats, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. A simple lipids test.’
‘Well, why don’t we run some of them?’
‘That’s an excellent idea,’ she replied. ‘Can’t think why I didn’t suggest it myself.’
‘We can always ask Alistair over at Scoby Hall to fund them. They can’t be very expensive.’
‘Oh no, they’re not.’ She paused, smiling now, then continued: ‘In fact I can get them done for nothing. I’ve got an old and very loyal friend who’ll run them and remain absolutely confidential. I can guarantee that.’
‘And do you think he’d have the time?’
‘Oh I’m sure he would. He’d do anything for me…’
Alan had a small stab of jealousy, which surprised him somewhat. Then he dismissed it as ridiculous. Harriet’s private life was none of his business. He tried to sound as breezy and cheerful as possible.
‘If the tests work out we’ll owe him a few beers.’
‘There’ll be no need for that.’ She paused. ‘I tell you what, I’ll be seeing him at home on Friday evening…’
‘Do you want me to move out of the spare room, give you some space?’
‘No need for that, either. But it’ll be a good excuse for a nice supper.’
Alan got the slight impression that she was rather enjoying this exchange.
‘I’ll bring a bottle or two then.’
But Harriet’s mood had changed suddenly, she was frowning in concentration.
‘One practical thing, Alan.’
‘What’s that?’
‘We’ll need precisely the same material to work on. After the mix-up, we can’t afford to use different bones. They have to be precisely the same jaws that Judd had.’
‘Yes, I know. The trouble is they’re all at Saltaire.’
‘Well, somehow, we’ve got to get them back.’
‘Leave that with me,’ Alan replied, ‘if Judd’s like any of our other specialists he’ll be desperate to get rid of them. Storage space is always short.’ He glanced down at his phone. ‘It’s Wednesday today. I’ll see if I can collect them on Friday and bring them over that evening.’
Alan rang Judd’s laboratory and explained that he needed two of the samples back urgently, to run additional radiocarbon dates. It was a white lie, but he also knew that he must give some sort of explanation for giving such little notice. The girl at the other end explained that they were in the middle of returning a huge batch of samples to the Royal Ontario Museum, in Toronto, so would he mind waiting a couple of weeks? Again, Alan lied: he’d only managed to extract a short-term grant and had to pay the lab within a few days…
He was put on hold. The tinny music echoed down the phone to him, and then was suddenly interrupted by a chuckling voice.
‘Causing more bloody problems for our dedicated staff are you, Cadbury?’
It was Judd. In jovial mood.
‘I’m sorry, but I need two of those samples back urgently. Would a nice malt help your decision?’
‘Done. Give me the sample numbers.’
Alan had them memorised.
‘You’re a star,’ Alan replied. ‘I’ll see you bright and early Friday.’
Things began well the following morning. The Land Rover started on just the third attempt and Alan arrived at Priory Farm fifteen minutes before nine. In the lobby, he met Paul who greeted him with an unexpectedly cheery wave. OK, thought Alan, that’s good. Whatever’s going on, Paul obviously thinks he’s got away with it. Best to play along.
‘Alan,’ he called across the entrance hall, ‘I’ve got some splendid news.’
Alan looked suitably astonished.
‘What, even better than Impingham?’
‘Oh yes. Very much better. And better for you too.’
‘I’ll be right with you.’
Alan dumped his laptop and rucksack on his desk, and then gave himself a little pep talk. Whatever he says or does, stay calm. Think of the bigger picture.
He walked across the hall to Paul’s office.
When he entered, Paul was standing by the window, looking intently at the ground outside. As Alan came in, Paul turned round and strode purposefully across to his work station.
‘I’ve just had Sir Christopher Hamble, Chairman of Eborcom Developments on the phone.’
Alan had never heard of the man.
‘That’s wonderful news, Paul. What’s the project?’
‘It’s the big new city centre development at York. It’ll be huge. Mega. Bigger even, than the original Viking Dig of the 1970s.’
‘Blimey. That is big.’ Alan was genuinely impressed.
‘But they’ve learned from the past. This time the archaeologists won’t be under such extreme pressure. And it won’t all happen so fast, either. Instead it’s going to be about Integrated Phased Expansion.’
‘Oh, IPE, that’s good,’ Alan said, on the off-chance that such an acronym existed.
‘Precisely,’ Paul seemed impressed at Alan’s know-how. ‘And we’ve landed the contract for IPE Phase 1. It’s the St Cuthbert’s cemetery.
Paul took a sip from his coffee, put down the cup and said:
‘And I want you, Alan, to direct it. What do you say?’
Every part of Alan wanted to turn the offer down. Right now the thought of taking any more money from PFC made him feel physically sick. But he knew he had to stay in close contact. He also knew they had to establish a sound working relationship. In fact, everything would depend on it.
‘Good heavens. That’s a very tempting offer. Are you sure I could do it?’
‘Of course, man. Wouldn’t have asked you otherwise.’
‘Very well, Paul, I will. And thank you. It’s a much larger project than I’m used to. That’s why I hesitated.’
‘No, I quite understand. But don’t forget, you’ll have me and Harriet to back you up. You know that, don’t you? And we’ve made such a good team at Guthlic’s, haven’t we?’
Alan wasn’t aware that Paul had done anything much for Guthlic’s, other than land the job in the first place.
‘Yes, Guthlic’s has been a wonderful experience,’ he said, trying to sound convincing.
Paul continued, relentlessly, ‘The main project will start in October, but first we’ve got to enlarge our facilities here. We’d never cope otherwise. So I’ve had a small team prepare drawings, and we’re going to get hold of some sophisticated site laboratories – the sort of things they use after natural disasters: earthquakes, that sort of thing. We won’t need them forever, and being officially classed as temporary, the Planning Permission is simpler. Anyhow, I’d like you to supervise the groundworks for them, not that they need a great deal – just a water supply and sewage outlet.’
‘Where are you planning to put them?’
‘Out there,’ he pointed towards the large window.
‘Won’t that come down on some of the Priory outbuildings?’ Alan asked.
‘Possibly, but only possibly. We’re a long way outside the Scheduled Area and I’ve cleared it with the County Council. They don’t seem at all worried. Seem more concerned about rural employment around here. They were all in favour. They said they’re more than happy for you to keep an eye on things. Then send them one of our usual clients’ reports.’
‘What, a watching-brief?’
‘Yes – probably no need for a dig. And they want some geophys in advance. Nothing too elaborate.’
‘What, mag?’
Magnetometry was much cheaper than radar.
‘Yes, probably. Anyhow they’ll send you a spec in a few days.’
The interview was over.
Instead of returning directly to his office, Alan decided to take a short stroll, pretending to look at the area planned for the new building. He needed to show Paul that he was on top of the job. Keen to ‘progress it’. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Paul, in his office, had noted his presence outside.
There was a sharp tap on glass. Alan looked round. The window opened and Paul asked,
‘What d’you think?’
‘Looks pretty disturbed…’ Alan replied, kicking the ground with the side of his foot. ‘Should be straightforward enough, if you ask me.’
‘Glad to hear it, Alan.’
‘Paul, you don’t mind me asking, but there’s a great deal riding on this new project, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, the growth and survival of PFC as a going concern. The thing is, we can’t survive for ever on little projects like Guthlic’s? We need something much bigger and long-lasting if we’re to weather the recession. So if we get this right, we’re made. I’m depending on you, Alan. I know you won’t let me down.’
Alan privately thought that money was the least of Paul’s problems right now. But instead he just smiled and nodded.
‘Don’t worry, Paul,’ he said. ‘You can rely on me. And Harriet too.’
On Friday morning Alan drove over to Saltaire in the small PFC van, and collected the two Guthlic’s bone samples from the lab. Judd was pleased to see him, but was a little puzzled why Harriet had phoned through earlier to query the results. Alan explained there’d been a cock-up at their end. He himself had muddled up a couple of long context numbers, which made Harriet think there’d been duplication. But it was all sorted out. As they stood outside the old clothing mill that had been converted by the university twenty years ago, he slipped Judd the promised bottle of old malt whisky. The older man was delighted. Harriet could relax: things would be fine with Judd in the future.
It was getting dark as he came over the steep escarpment into the Dawyck Fen basin. The van window was open, and as he drove down the slope he could feel the air outside grow cooler. He wound the window up and turned on the headlights. It had been a very still evening. At this time of year the ground was colder than the air and the deeper drains soon filled with misty vapour. They look very beautiful, but can cause sudden impenetrable banks of fog, which can be deadly for motorists. His thoughts were entirely focused on the evening ahead. Harriet assured him that her bones expert would be able to give a definitive analysis. He was so close… but he had no sense of academic excitement. Just a horrible feeling that the truth was going to be harder to find than a few results. And what did they mean? Increasingly he was finding it harder to differentiate between the remote past and the present: between Anatolia and Turkey, he thought grimly. Then suddenly his thoughts were broken when he drove slap bang into an impenetrable wall of fog, just outside Harriet’s village. He nearly fetched up in the dyke, but somehow managed to stop. He drove the remaining few yards at twenty mph.
He gave a perfunctory knock and walked through into her kitchen. She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and glass of white wine.
‘Gosh Alan, you look pale.’
‘It’s getting nippy outside.’
He handed her two bottles of red.
‘Oo,’ she muttered, looking at the French labels, ‘that’s generous.’
‘Yes, nearly fetched up in the dyke, just outside the village…’
‘What that patch of mist? It’s always there this time of year. Sorry, I should have warned you.’
Somehow he had expected a little more sympathy. But her mind was clearly on other things.
‘Do you have the bone samples?’
‘Yes, they’re in the van.’
‘Well,’ she laughed, ‘don’t stand there like an idiot. Get them!’
Alan jumped to it. He was amazed. He could only assume that Harriet’s visiting expert was somewhere else, maybe upstairs in the bathroom. Before he closed the front door he looked around for a car. But there wasn’t one. Just Harriet’s. Presumably, he thought, he’s come by train. He lifted the two boxes out of the PFC van and took them inside.
‘Right,’ she said, taking both the boxes off the kitchen table and placing them on the carpet. ‘Which one do you want to do first?’
Alan was at a loss. Where was the expert?
‘I don’t mind. I suspect they’re both the same.’
‘OK.’ She paused. ‘I tell you what. Let’s test the method properly.’
Alan looked puzzled.
‘These,’ she said, mimicking a Blue Peter presenter, ‘are some samples I prepared earlier.’
She reached into her rucksack and pulled out three small clear plastic bags.
Then she looked up.
‘Alaric!’ she called.
Her black Labrador, obedient to what he thought would be the call to dinner, came trotting in.
‘Stand there, Alan.’
She gestured him back, while keeping a firm grip on the dog’s collar.
‘I don’t want him put off. And he’s getting rather hungry. He should have been fed an hour ago.
She picked up a human lower jaw, rather like a stage conjuror. By now Alan knew what was coming. He felt a bit foolish; should have guessed earlier.
‘I borrowed these mandibles from my office. They all come from Simon Cox’s site and are guaranteed genuine fifteenth century.’
She laid them on the floor and gently drew Alaric’s attention to them. He wasn’t even slightly interested. Alan watched, fascinated.
‘And this…’ she paused and opened the box beside her. ‘Is what you brought back from Saltaire and is supposedly Saxon…’
She pushed the opened box towards the dog. Alaric’s nose shot towards it, twitching wildly. Then he licked the bone with his large and very pink tongue. Quickly she placed her hand over the box and removed it. Alan grabbed the dog’s collar.
‘OK, I’m convinced,’ he said, ‘but let’s just do the other one.’
‘OK.’
She only had to open the lid for Alaric’s nose to start vigourously twitching. He gave a small squeak of frustration. He was getting bored by this game and wanted to be fed.
‘Point made,’ Alan said. ‘I think you’d better feed him.’
‘There’s a good boy,’ she cooed, ‘there’s a good boy! Time for din-dins!’
She reached up to the worktop beside the Aga and took down a dish of dog food, which Alaric pounced on, as if starving.
‘That was impressive. But also a bit creepy,’ Alan said.
She refilled his wine, which he took and sipped, almost without thinking. Alaric’s display had unnerved him badly. It was now getting far, far too close to home.
‘I know,’ she said sympathetically, ‘it’s usually the bones of other animals, not us, isn’t it? It seems like a sort of cannibalism.’
Alan had got over his surprise and was back on the case.
‘What about those babies? Do you think he’d lick them?’ he asked.
‘I’ve already thought of that, but I don’t want to try it again, as they’re so fragile and Alaric’s famished.’
‘And what happened?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What d’you mean nothing: he wasn’t interested?’
‘No. Not even slightly.’
‘But we’re pretty certain they’re late Victorian or early twentieth century. I’d be surprised if they were much more than a century old. And all the fat had already leached out…’ He paused. ‘So that proves those so-called Saxon and Medieval mandibles have to be very recent, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘ten, twenty years will dissolve fats in some soils. And of course neonate bones are so thin, there’s not much for the lipids to lock onto.’
‘So, what do you reckon: are they five years old?’
‘At the most, I’d say. But I’m no expert.’
‘No,’ he said thinking aloud, ‘we’re getting into forensics territory here.’
And if there are teeth, mandibles and jaws, Alan mused, then there’ll be the rest of the skeleton too. But where? Already smuggled out of PFC in other Out Store boxes?
Eventually Harriet broke the silence:
‘I think we’d better tell the police, don’t you?’
Alan was thinking hard. Tactically this was a crucial decision.
‘Yes, you’re right. But I don’t think a 999 call would work. Much better go in at the right level.’
‘What do you mean?’
Alan gave Harriet a brief résumé of his relationship with Lane. He also told her that it was Lane who had suggested that he got involved with The Lifers’ Club. It was a lie but, in the grand scheme of things, a lie so small that he didn’t even consider it.
‘A detective with archaeological training, sounds perfect.’
She handed him the phone handset.
‘I’ll get you a brandy – and I think I need one myself.’
‘To be honest, Harry, I think I’d better take this in my room, Richard’s a stickler for the whole confidentiality thing.’
When Lane answered he got straight to the point.
‘Good heavens, Alan, are you psychic? I’ve been trying to get you on your mobile. But it’s turned off.’
Alan pulled it out of his pocket. He was right, it was dead.
‘I’m sorry, Richard, the bloody batteries are flat. I’ll have to get a new one soon…’
Lane had no time for excuses, he pressed on – insistent.
‘I’m afraid it’s serious. The Drugs people are giving me loads of problems. But we’re not alone. I’ve spoken to people from other county forces: they’re all moaning like hell.’
‘Why?’
‘You probably can’t remember, but just before the last election the government pushed through a law, which promoted cannabis from Class C to Class B.’
‘Yes, I remember it well. They ignored the scientific advice and the chairman of the advisory committee, Professor Something-or-Other, resigned. And I think most of the academic world was behind him. Bloody outrageous political interference.’
‘Well,’ Lane continued, cutting short Alan’s outburst, ‘that’s had a big knock-on effect. The civil servants in their wisdom failed adequately to adjust the Class B targets for the next NiB Review.’
‘NiB?’
‘“Narcotics in Britain” Review.’
‘So what?’
‘I’d have thought it was obvious.’
There was a pause.
‘Oh,’ Alan replied, ‘I get it. With cannabis up a grade, the Drugs Squads are beating their Class B targets.’
‘And by a mile. To be honest they’ve gone on a feeding frenzy. My mate in the Yard says some are even talking about big bonuses for the best squads.’
‘So don’t tell me. They reckon that if indeed the Kabuls are running a major scam…’
‘Then it’s big bonuses for the lads. In reality, it’s all about jockeying for power in a police force that’s about to face major cuts. Anyone who’s up now is likely to be riding even higher when the spending axe falls.’
‘Pre-emptive strikes?’
‘Precisely. There’s a huge amount riding on all this, so I very much doubt whether I can do anything to stop them raiding the Kabuls before very long.’
‘What, weeks?’
‘No, days. If we’re lucky. Don’t forget, the NiB deadline is mid-May…’
‘Bloody hell, just two weeks.’ Alan paused. ‘And do they know about the grandiose plans to build the Kabul Centre at Impingham?’
‘No, I haven’t told them about it. But I bet somebody here will leak the news soon. Everyone’s trying to grease-up to the Drugs boys.’
Alan had heard enough. Time to cut to the chase.
‘To be honest, Richard, I think that’s the least of our worries.’
‘Have you been listening to a word I said?’
‘Of course, but…’
Alan took a large gulp of brandy and braced himself.
‘You remember we talked about the Kabuls’ family background?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you know that Sofia spent her childhood in Turkey?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Lane was growing impatient, ‘Get to the point.’
‘Then I think we’ve got something to stop the Drugs lads in their tracks.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘I think we’ve found Sofia’s body. Or at least some of it.’
Alan went back through recent events: the dual accounting, Ali’s threat to Paul. As he did, he tried his best to pre-empt Lane’s protests.
‘The thing is, Richard, I didn’t want to put you in a compromising situation. I knew the minute I told you about the money…’
Lane didn’t even let him finish.
‘The Drugs boys would be all over PFC and you’d be out of a job?’
‘No. It’s not that. I just needed time.’
‘For what, exactly?’
Alan explained briefly about the anomaly in the skeleton results and how Sofia’s profile fitted the unknown body.
‘Wait a minute, Alan, you’re suggesting that Sofia’s body has been kept at PFC for seven years and is being disposed of, piece by piece? Are you aware how absurd that sounds?’
‘I agree it does, in abstract, but once you start looking at the forensic evidence…’
‘If you are now, finally, choosing to tell me the whole truth, then as far as the police are concerned this new evidence clearly shifts suspicion onto Dr Paul Flynn.’
He drew a deep breath, then continued, ‘It’s a shame you didn’t choose to let me into your confidence earlier, Alan, because to a dispassionate outside observer, you and Harriet are also in the frame.’
‘Surely you don’t believe that?’
‘No, I don’t. But you must admit you both work for PFC. You both deal with human bone material and its storage, so you’d have had plenty of opportunities…’
‘But for Christ’s sake, Richard, we’ve got no motive whatsoever.’
‘I know that, but my colleagues won’t. All they’ll see are opportunities to make an arrest. Look, for reasons best known to yourself you’ve become obsessed with this killing. In fact, when you first contacted me about it, your precise words were “I know he didn’t do it. He couldn’t have.” And now here you are, handing me Sofia’s bones on a plate, so to speak. In doing so, you are deflecting attention from yourself and placing Paul Flynn clearly in the frame.’
‘Richard. Stop. I know you’re angry with me for withholding information, and rightly so. But just hear me out, please.’
Alan took Lane’s lack of response as a good sign and he pressed on.
‘Paul uses Kabul’s firm, AK Plant, exclusively. They also run a delivery service and their vans are in and out of Priory Farm all the time. They could have swapped the bones very easily, piece by piece.’
Lane couldn’t conceal his exasperation.
‘There are times I think I should close the whole bloody place down and haul the lot of you in for questioning.’
He was beginning to calm down. Alan managed a weak smile and said,
‘I wouldn’t advise that. We still need to do tests on DNA samples from Ali and from the bones we think are Sofia’s. The problem is, if you make a move before then, the Kabuls will know that you’re onto them. The rest of the body…’
It was a grim thought. Lane broke the silence.
‘Could be redistributed elsewhere?’
‘Exactly. So we need to find a way of obtaining Ali’s DNA without his knowledge.’
‘Which is a fundamental breach of his human rights and highly illegal,’ replied Lane.
‘I thought you’d say that,’ said Alan. ‘But you can’t be held responsible if you don’t know how I’m going to do it, can you?’
There was a long pause. When Lane spoke again he sounded like he’d made a decision. He sounded professional.
‘Send me an email. Make it appear very forensic. Use all the jargon you can, as it’s got to sound authoritative. I’ll take it directly to the Chief Constable.’
‘Shall I send it to your office?’
‘No, best not. Send it here and I’ll print it out. I don’t want it floating around the office system, not as things are now.’
‘Do you reckon it’ll work?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Why?’
‘Simple: murder always trumps drugs.’
‘But we still don’t know that it is murder, do we?’
‘No we don’t, but bodies of any sort also trump drugs. More to the point, if the media ever got to learn that we did an abortive drugs bust and in the process screwed up a major murder investigation…’
‘Are you suggesting I’d tell the press?’ Alan feigned surprise.
‘To the Chief Constable, and in private, I’ll suggest anything I bloody want.’
‘Thanks Richard, I really do appreciate it.’
‘Don’t think for a second that I’m doing this as a personal favour to you, Alan. I’m just doing my job. However if you withhold any further information from me, anything at all, then I won’t hesitate to throw the book at you.’
And with that, the line went dead.
Alan was left staring at the phone in his hand. He had no doubt at all that Lane meant every word.
Alan took a few minutes to compose himself and then returned to the sofa in the sitting room. Harriet came across and sat beside him. Her grey-green eyes looked frightened. She took a sip from her brandy. Her hand was shaking. Alan put a consoling arm around her shoulder.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve done it.’
‘And they’re taking it seriously?’
‘Yes, very. It’s corporate fraud on a grand scale, potentially millions. They’re taking it very seriously indeed.’
Alan was aware that he was getting almost too good at the spontaneous lies now. ‘So what does that mean for us?’ Harriet’s nervous question broke into Alan’s thoughts. This was important, he had to make her feel safe.
‘Lane knows we’re not involved. In fact, he’s alerted the local force to our situation. So if anything happens, we’re protected.’
This time, it wasn’t so much a lie as a strategic half-truth. Still, Alan hated himself for it.
They sat in silence for some time. Alan fully expected her to buckle; to breakdown and sob into his consoling embrace. But she didn’t. Far from it.
‘OK,’ she said, looking up at him, ‘so what’s going to happen next?’
‘Don’t be scared, Harry.’
‘Richard’s on the case now. So please try not to worry. We’ll need to keep clear heads for the next few weeks.’
‘And you think that possible?’
Alan smiled. He hadn’t expected her to be so strong.
‘Of course I do.’ He tried to sound convincing.
‘So they’re prepared to protect us for weeks?’
‘For as long as it takes. But we must work together. We’re a team now, Harry, whether we like it or not.’
‘I like it…’ she whispered, leaning towards him.
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Then she took both his hands, and slowly led him upstairs.