Gordon looked out of the window. He understood that it would always come down to this in the end. Not only between himself and Whiting, but also between himself and anyone. That would, eternally, be the measure of his life, and he’d been mad to think otherwise, even for a moment and especially in the moment those years ago when he’d accepted Jemima Hastings’ invitation for drinks at her brother’s house. He wondered what he’d been thinking in deciding he could have a normal life. Half mad and three-quarters lonely, he’d thought. That was him in a tablespoon. The companionship of a dog was not enough.

When they came to his holding, he immediately saw the cars in the driveway. He recognised both. Gina was at home, but Meredith Powell was also there for some reason. He said to Whiting, “How d’you want to manage this, then?” as the chief superintendent pulled past the cottage and parked in front of the hedge. “Can’t exactly call it an arrest, can you? All things considered.”

Whiting looked at his watch. Gordon reckoned the chief superintendent was thinking about the wheres and the whens: where he was supposed to hand Gordon over to the Home Office and at what time. He was likely also considering how much time had already passed since the Home Office had told him to collect Gordon, time accounted for by their interlude together at Eyeworth Pond. The clock was ticking, so they could hardly come back later for his belongings once Gina and Meredith were off the holding.

He reckoned Whiting would tell him he’d have to leave without the previously allowed single suitcase. He worked it out that Whiting would tell him his things-such as they were-would be sent along later. But instead, Whiting said with a smile, “Oh, I do expect you’ll come up with something interesting to tell them, my dear,” and Gordon realised that the chief superintendent saw this as part of the overall fun he intended to have at Gordon’s expense. First Eyeworth Pond and now this: Gordon packing and having to come up with a reason that would explain to Gina why he was about to disappear.

Whiting said, “Quarter hour. I wouldn’t waste a second of it chatting with the ladies, me. But you c’n use it as you like. The dog stays here, by the way. To make certain. You know. Call it insurance.”

“Tess won’t like it,” Gordon said.

“She will if you tell her. You’ve a way with the ladies, don’t you, my love?”

At that, Gordon realised it was actually to his benefit to have the retriever remain in the car. If Tess bounded out, she would no doubt set out to find Gina, thus betraying his own presence. Without her, he might be able to get into the cottage by the front door, make his way quietly upstairs, do what he needed to do, and leave unseen. No explanation required. No conversation at all.

He nodded at Whiting, told the dog to stay, and got out of the car. He reckoned Gina and Meredith were inside the cottage, probably in the kitchen, but in any case not upstairs in the bedroom. If he went in the front door, he could ease up the stairs without being seen. The floors creaked like hell, but that couldn’t be helped. He’d do what he could to be quiet and he’d hope that whatever conversation they were having would be sufficient to cover his noise. As to why Meredith was there on the property…He didn’t see how working out the answer to that was going to get him anywhere. He also couldn’t see that it mattered.

Once in the front door, he listened for their voices. But the cottage was silent. He moved quietly for the stairs. The only sound was from his weight upon them as he climbed.

He went to the bedroom. A single suitcase and a quarter hour. Gordon knew that Whiting would be as good as his word. One minute more and he’d come sauntering onto the property, leaving Gordon to explain why he was being carted off or perhaps doing the honours himself.

Gordon fetched his suitcase from beneath the bed. He went to the chest of drawers and slid the top one open. The chest of drawers was next to the window, and he was careful with his movement here, trying to keep out of sight. For if Gina and Meredith were outside and looked up…He gave a glance to make sure.

He saw them at once. The window overlooked the driveway and part of the west paddock, empty now of the ponies he’d used to keep Gina from going inside the inclosure. She was inside the paddock now, and so was Meredith. But with them was a man he didn’t recognise. He was standing behind Meredith and he was gripping her round the waist in a manner that suggested she wasn’t a willing participant in what was going on. And what was going on was a spate of digging. Gina had one of the shovels from the barn and she was frantically applying it to a rectangle of earth just beyond the old horse trough. She’d cleared away a mass of vegetation, he saw. She must have been working like mad since she’d returned from wherever she’d gone that morning.

At first he thought what an excellent job he’d done. Things looked exactly as he hoped they would look. Then he realised that he owed Jemima a debt of gratitude for this moment. She clearly had revealed some of the truth, but she had, for some reason, not told it all. Perverse loyalty to him? Suspicion of the other? He wouldn’t ever know.

He started to move from the window, knowing that the three of them would dig all the way to China before they found what they were looking for. But Meredith made a sudden move-as if she was trying to escape the hold the strange bloke had on her-and in doing so, she swung round and he swung with her so that they were no longer facing Gina and her digging but rather the cottage.

Gordon saw the bloke held something to Meredith’s neck, and his glance went from the couple to Gina. He clocked what Gina was actually doing, the size and the shape of it, and he whispered a curse. She was digging a grave.

So these were Jemima’s killers, he thought. He’d been sleeping with one of them. She was the woman from London that the Scotland Yard detective had declared was in the pictures of that photo show. She’d come to Hampshire in order to snare him and, eternal fool that he was, he’d walked right into her arms.

He saw how he’d helped them by placing those bloody postcards round. Have you seen this woman? and of course they had. Jemima had confided in the bloke. The bloke had confided in Gina. They’d set the rest up from there: one of them in London and one of them in Hampshire, and when the time was right, the rest was child’s play. A phone call to Hampshire, made by the bloke. This is where she is. This is where you can find her. And then the wait to see what he would do.

And now this moment, outside, in the paddock. This was meant to be as well. There was going to be another body. But this one on his very own property.

He didn’t know how they’d managed to pick up Meredith Powell and get her here. He didn’t know why they’d done so. But as he watched, he saw what they intended as clearly as if the plan had been his own. The conclusion to it all was written out before him.

He headed for the stairs.

ONCE GINA DICKENS began to dig in earnest, Barbara phoned nine, nine, nine. She reckoned Frazer was going to wait to dispatch his captive till he had a place to put her body. The only way to make it look as if Gordon Jossie had killed her was to plant her somewhere and hope to avoid detection till she’d been in the ground long enough to make the exact time of death-and hence Jossie’s alibi-somewhat uncertain. This required a grave.

To her credit Meredith Powell wasn’t cooperatively waiting for the blow that would kill her. She struggled as best she could. When she did so, though, Frazer applied the crook to her neck. She was bleeding profusely down the front of her body, but he’d so far avoided making the blow fatal. Just enough to settle her, Barbara thought. What a piece of work he was.