‘I will ask for room service and watch some English television while I eat,’ he said.

‘Oh.’

‘Unless you were about to suggest a better idea?’

Fry took the cue. ‘Well, if you like, I’d be happy to take you to dinner tonight and show you a bit of Edendale. As it happens, I’m free.’ He opened his mouth to reply, but she rushed on. ‘Well, it’s preferable to sitting on your own, isn’t it?’

Kotsev bowed slightly. ‘A great deal better, Sergeant. Thank you, I would be delighted.’

She let out the breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding until then.

‘I’ll pick you up here at about seven thirty, then.’

‘Seven thirty. Excellent. Goodbye for now.’

He insisted on shaking hands again. Then Fry watched him walk to the lift, rolling his shoulders a little under his leather jacket as he shifted the weight of his case. Kotsev pressed the button, and glanced back while he waited. Fry was surprised to find herself still standing there like an idiot. She waved self-consciously. But he was already turning to enter the lift, and he probably didn’t see it.

‘Ciao,’ she said quietly, as the doors closed behind him.

‘The device was taped under the chassis and wired into the electric motor for the ramp. Unloading the ramp closed the circuit and detonated the device. Click, boom. Simple, but effective.’

The army bomb squad captain looked pleased with himself, as if the device had been his own design and he’d scored top marks in his assessment. In his fatigues, he looked alarmingly young to be in charge of the combined briefing at Chesterfield police headquarters.

‘How big a device?’ said Hitchens. ‘I mean, how much explosive?’

The captain shrugged. ‘Twenty pounds or so. We can give you a better estimate later. But, to be honest, it didn’t need to be any bigger to achieve its primary purpose.’

‘Which was?’

‘Well, it looks pretty clear to me. I’d say the purpose was to take out the owners of the vehicle – not to maximize casualties or cause general devastation. This wasn’t al-Qaeda, you know. We’re not talking terrorism here.’

‘We’re not?’

‘In my opinion, the attack was targeted too precisely. But that’s your province, I suppose. You and our friends from Special Branch, anyway. I expect they’ll have their own ideas.’

Kessen didn’t look pleased at the mention of Special Branch.

‘How long would it take somebody to attach a device like that to the vehicle?’

‘If it was someone who knew what they were doing, no more than a few minutes. There’s nothing clever about the device itself. It’s the method of detonation that’s a bit smarter than usual. Whoever attached the explosive must have worked out his method pretty well beforehand. It’s not something you’d be able to improvise on the spot. So, if you want my opinion, it wasn’t just some opportunist assassin slapping a bit of Semtex under the chassis when no one was looking.’

‘They needed access to the interior of the vehicle?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘And they had to know in advance what they were dealing with?’

‘Exactly.’ The captain smiled. ‘Personally, I think that should make your job a lot easier. There can’t be many people around here with that sort of expertise.’

‘Well, we hope not.’

‘We’ve all heard such a lot about Semtex,’ said Hitchens. ‘I suppose it must be easy to get hold of if you know the right people?’

‘It used to be. Especially if you had contacts in Libya, which is where most of the stuff went to. It became the terrorists’ explosive of choice, because it was difficult to detect, easily obtained – and as little as two hundred and fifty grams could bring down an airliner.’

‘Two hundred and fifty?’

‘Slightly over half a pound. Think of a packet of butter.’

‘Are you sure? It doesn’t seem enough to bring down an airliner.’

‘Ask the people on board Pan Am 103, or the residents of Lockerbie. The device in that case was estimated to contain three hundred and twelve grams. It made a pretty thorough job, wouldn’t you say?’

‘You said it used to be easy to get hold of,’ said Hitchens. ‘Only used to be?’

‘For the last four years, all sales of Semtex have been under the control of the Czech government. They’ve added ethylene glycol dinitrate to produce a distinctive odour and aid detection. They’ve also tried to reduce the shelf-life; all new supplies contain an identifying code.’

‘So Semtex is more difficult to obtain now, and easier to detect?’

‘If it’s newly manufactured. The trouble is, there’s still a lot of the old stuff around. The security services reckon the IRA has about ten tonnes of it, for a start. They’d probably be willing to share it around if they’re paid enough.’

‘Could this be the sort of explosive used by quarrying companies?’

The expert looked at him pityingly.

‘Well, there are a lot of quarries around here,’ said Hitchens. ‘There are blasting operations going on all the time. If they were using this stuff –’

‘I doubt it. Plastic explosives are much more expensive than other materials that perform just as well for ordinary blasting. On the other hand, if you have a major demolition project in the area, that might be a different matter.’

‘I’ve tested the water upstairs,’ said Kessen as the group of E Division officers walked back to the car park after the meeting.

Hitchens stared at him as if he’d suddenly starting speaking a foreign language. ‘Sorry, sir?’

‘Upstairs. They’re happy for us to run with the Rose Shepherd enquiry for now, but I have to keep everyone in the loop. Fully informed of developments.’

‘Right. And who’s everyone?’

‘I’ve got quite a list. As you might imagine, MI5 and Special Branch are too busy with other things right now, and SOCA isn’t up and running properly. But they all want to keep tabs on what we’re doing anyway.’

‘In case we mess up completely.’

‘That’s about the size of it.’

‘You know, sir, a cynic might think they were actually hoping we’d mess up, just to prove a point. Sort of “Give them enough rope and they’ll hang themselves.”’

Kessen sighed. ‘You could be right. But we have to get on with the job and achieve the best outcome we can. Let’s get a copy of the report sent round to Sergeant Kotsev at the Holiday Inn, so he’ll be up to speed for tomorrow morning. C Division will want to borrow him tomorrow, too, so he can fill them in on the Zhivkos’ background.’

‘I’ve just called DS Fry to keep her informed,’ said Hitchens. ‘Apparently, she’s seeing Kotsev later this evening.’

‘Oh? Well, I’m glad we’re being hospitable,’ said Kessen.

24

Fry was on her way home through Edendale when she took the call from Hitchens. Turning off Meadow Road, she bumped her Peugeot over a patch of rough ground in front of the old cattle market, wincing as a front wheel bounced into a deep pot hole and muddy water splashed over her offside wing.

‘Yes, I heard about the explosion in Chesterfield. What’s our interest in it? Oh, really?’

While she listened, Fry stared at the ruined buildings that had once been the premises of Pilkington & Son, livestock auctioneers. The demolition workers had left two rows of sheep pens standing outside, exposed to the weather. Rusty gates were falling off their hinges, iron bars had been bent out of shape by vandals, or by panicking animals.

‘The Zhivko brothers? That’s more than a coincidence … yes, I bet they are.’

Fry felt suddenly tired, and an inexplicable tremor of fear ran through her. Not at the thought of the explosion that had killed the Zhivkos in a Chesterfield street. The fear was caused by something else, closer to home.

‘Yes, of course, sir. I’ll liaise with Sergeant Kotsev.’

She ended the call, and glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, seeking a trace of that fear in her own eyes.