“She’s been at the Cromwell. We’ve friends there, and I understand she’ll be transferred back to the Rosedene tomorrow.” He took a small envelope from an inner pocket and offered it to her. “This is something to help her on her way. Put her out of her suffering, if you like. It’s called Dazone. A special drug from the States. If the heart’s bad, it helps. That’s one pill, but three” – he shrugged – “it’s good night, Vienna. Are you up to this? You’ve powerful memories concerning your father, but say the word…”

She took the envelope. “Of course I will. It’s a wonderful chance to serve.”

“Good girl.” He patted her hand and got up. “I’ll be on my way. Look after her, Dermot.”

“I will, Mr. Bell.”

“And at the hospital, you watch out for a man called Sean Dillon. A damned traitor to us all.”

He left, and walked along the street to a Mercedes, where a man in a dark trench coat sat behind the wheel. His name was Igor Levin, and he was a commercial attaché at the Russian Embassy, or claimed to be.

“Taken care of?”

“Oh yes,” Bell said. “You got a good look at her, Mary Killane?”

“Naturally.”

“Keep a close eye, just in case anything goes wrong.”

“The man, Fitzgerald. Do you want anything to happen to him afterwards?”

“Jesus, no. He’s too valuable. He’ll be away out of it. Probably Ibiza. It’ll be a big payday for him.”

Levin said, “Well, we’ll get you back to Ballykelly, then. You won’t have trouble at the airfield? You’ve served time in the Maze Prison, surely?”

“I have a false passport. There are people in this town who’d love to know what I’m up to.”

“Always the old fox.”

“It’s what’s kept me ahead of the game all these years.”

“So what happens now?” Mary Killane had asked after Bell had gone.

Dermot had kissed her boldly, which thrilled her to her toes. She’d known there was something between them, she’d felt it.

“We could start with that,” he said, “or we could go around the corner and have a drink and a bit to eat first. What’s your pleasure, lass?”

They ended up having the drink first, and then Dermot had bedded her, and the whole thing felt like the most special time in her life.

Now, pushing the trolley up the corridor to Hannah’s room, the moment of truth had arrived. She felt surprisingly calm, remembering what had been done to her father and to so many others, and that this woman, this Police Superintendent, had been responsible for so much of it. She opened the door and pushed the trolley in.

She’d checked up on Dazone. It took half an hour to kick in, which was why she’d left it to the end of her shift. The curtains were drawn, the small bed light the only illumination. Hannah Bernstein looked pale, almost skeletal, eyes closed. Mary Killane had the pills ready in a small plastic cup, a little water in another one.

Hannah’s eyes flickered open. She said drowsily, “What is it?”

“Your medication,” the woman said. Surprising how easy it was. “There you go. I’ll help you drink.” And then it was over. “You’ll sleep now.”

“Thank you,” came the murmur, and Mary Killane pushed the trolley out.

In the staff room, she didn’t change out of her uniform, simply pulled on a raincoat, got her handbag from her locker and went out. As she reached the entrance foyer, Maggie Duncan emerged from her office.

“Another shift over, Mary.”

“That’s right, Matron.”

“Have you given any thought to what I said? We’d like to have you with us full-time. Agency work is no way to live.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“You do that. Is the Superintendent all right?”

“I’ve seen to her.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Mary Killane hurried across the car park, speaking into her mobile at the same time. “It’s done.”

“Good girl,” Dermot Fitzgerald replied. “I’ll be with you as arranged.”

She hurried on, excited now, turned a corner and moved along a dark road, a small bridge at the end crossing a canal. There was only a single old-fashioned gas lamp giving any light, but she felt no fear. There was a footfall behind her, and she turned to see him emerging out of the shadows, a smile on his face.

“Jesus, Dermot, we’ll have to move it if we’re to get to the airport in time for the Dublin plane.”

He kissed her on the cheek lightly. “Don’t fret. Everything’s fine. You’re sure you gave her the pills?”

“Absolutely. They kick in in half an hour, but it will be quite a while before anyone twigs there’s something wrong. It’s her heart they’ve been worried about anyway.”

“Excellent. You’ve done an amazing job. Pity it has to end this way.”

“What are you talking about?” she said, bewildered.

His right hand came out of the pocket of his reefer coat clutching a silenced Colt.38 pistol. He rammed it into her, fired twice and pushed with his left hand so that she went backward over the rail into the canal below.

He walked to the end of the street and the lights of a Mercedes switched on. He got into the passenger seat and Igor Levin said, “That’s it, then?”

“Mission accomplished.”

“Your bag is in the back. I’ll drop you at Heathrow.”

“Ibiza next stop.” Fitzgerald lit a cigarette. “I can’t wait to get in the water.”

At Rosedene, Hannah Bernstein sighed gently and stopped breathing. The alarm sounded, a jarring, ugly sound. A young probationer nurse was nearest and got to her first, followed by Maggie Duncan, then Bellamy. Within seconds, the entire crash team was swinging into action, not that it did any kind of good. They finally switched off. Maggie was crying, Bellamy’s face was bleak.

“Time of death, five thirty-five. Agreed, Matron?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Strange the turns of life,” he said. “So many people loved her, yet at the end not one of them was here.” He shook his head. “I’d better make some phone calls. I’m not looking forward to that.”

“Especially Dillon.”

“All of them, really.”

The Gulfstream was an hour late due to bad headwinds. It was just descending into the lights of Farley Field when Ferguson got the call. He listened, his face grave.

“I’m desperately sorry. Have you spoken to everybody?”

“Yes.”

“How awful for her father and grandfather. And Dillon? How was he?”

“I don’t think he could take it in. He was at the Dark Man with Roper and the others. He passed the phone to Roper and apparently rushed out. Roper said he and the Salters would go after him. He’s probably gone to Rosedene.”

“You know her religion will have an impact here. I’m not sure they’ll allow an autopsy. Find out, would you? Thank you, Doctor, and we’ll talk again.”

Ferguson sat there, face grave as the Gulfstream rolled to a halt, then told Blake the bad news.

Blake was shocked. “How terrible.” He raised the inevitable question. “You mentioned an autopsy?”

“That’s not certain. Generally, they’re not allowed. The Jewish body is considered sacred, and the corpse must be buried within twenty-four hours. However, if it can be argued that an autopsy could save another life, for instance by helping to apprehend a killer and prevent him killing again, then there are exceptions. You’d need an expert rabbi to determine that.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Particularly as she worked for me under the Official Secrets Act.”

They disembarked, and as they walked toward the small terminal, Ferguson’s Daimler drew up and Dillon got out from behind the wheel. He leaned against the Daimler and lit a Marlboro. His face was curiously expressionless.

“Blake, Charles. Good flight? Thought I’d come myself.”

Ferguson said, “I’m damn sorry, Sean, damn sorry.”

“You’ll be sorry yourself when you hear my news. Get in and we’ll move out.”