‘I told you, Lindsay wanted to say thank you. She wanted Miss Shepherd to know Luanne was happy and doing well, that it had all been worthwhile. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? No matter how Miss Shepherd might have bent the rules in Bulgaria, she was a caring person. You could see that she genuinely wanted the best for the child.’

‘And you got in touch with her by using the email address she’d given you in Bulgaria?’

‘Yes, that’s what I said,’ agreed Lowther cautiously.

‘Yet you’ve told me you had no way of getting in touch with her while you were there – that you always had to wait for her to phone you at the hotel.’

He hesitated, and Fry knew she was on the right track. There was more to be squeezed out of him yet.

‘Actually, that’s right,’ he said. ‘She gave me that email address when we saw her in Matlock Bath.’

‘I see. And did she happen to give you her phone number at the same time?’

‘Well, yes. So we could keep in touch in the future, you know.’

Fry could tell by the frozen expression in his eyes that Henry Lowther had no idea now whether he was saying the safe thing or not. If he denied having Rose Shepherd’s phone number, would the police be able to prove he was lying? Poor Mr Lowther. He hadn’t been as clever as he thought. He hadn’t planned his story in enough detail.

‘So the question remains, sir, how did you manage to get in contact with her before that meeting?’

‘It was the other way round,’ said Lowther. ‘It was Miss Shepherd who got in touch with us. Perhaps you’ve worked that out.’

‘Why on earth would she do that?’

Lowther had to think about that for a while. His dazed expression was starting to remind Fry of Wayne Abbott’s lamping theory. This was the way she imagined the quarry would look, caught suddenly in a beam of light, not knowing which way it should run to escape.

‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘I think Rose Shepherd was lonely.’

‘Lonely, sir?’

‘Yes. She knew no one in this country. I think she needed some kind of contact.’

‘She risked a lot for a bit of conversation over a cup of tea, didn’t she?’ said Fry incredulously.

Lowther shook his head. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, there wasn’t much in it for Miss Shepherd, was there? She’d gone to a lot of trouble to give herself a new identity and made herself a recluse, all out of concern for her own safety. Why would she decide to risk all that for an hour with you in a tea room in Matlock Bath?’

‘I really don’t know. I just know that she asked us, and we agreed.’

Fry watched him, inviting him to say more, but he remained silent. She looked at his wife instead, and saw that a worried expression had come over her face, a grey wash of despair.

‘It was our fault, wasn’t it?’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Lowther? Would you repeat that?’

‘It was because of us that Rose died. We got her killed, didn’t we?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly.’

Mrs Lowther shook her head, dismissing her denial.

‘The people she mixed with in Bulgaria, they must have come looking for her, to kill her. The same people who shot the couple in Bulgaria. And it was because of us that they found her.’

‘Really? You think so?’

Lowther nodded at what his wife was saying, and sighed deeply. He thought he’d seen a way out, after all.

‘It all makes sense now,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly what happened, isn’t it? It just goes to show what awful consequences the most innocent of intentions can have. I’m only glad that Lindsay never knew anything about all this.’

Fry felt a physical surge of revulsion at his sanctimonious expression. She could see him relaxing now, smug in the belief that everything would be smoothed over and he’d get away with what he’d done. He thought he might escape the light, after all.

‘Actually, Mr Lowther,’ she said, ‘that’s not the way we see it at all. And it isn’t what your former employee, Tony Donnelly, says either.’

Lowther just stared at her, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

Fry leaned forward and spoke to him quietly, fixing her gaze on his. Rain surged against the glass all around them, but she knew that he heard her perfectly well.

‘Nor was it the reason your son killed himself. Was it, Mr Lowther?’

And that was the bullet he was waiting for. Right between the eyes.

39

Fry had bought a new packet of Paracetamol, but was keeping it in her pocket for safety. After the interview with Henry Lowther, she fished it out and found a few tablets left. She had just taken two with a cup of water when her phone rang.

‘Alo. It’s Georgi Kotsev.’

‘Hi, Georgi. Will we see you today?’

‘Diane, I’m sorry to tell you that my chief has recalled me. I would have liked to stay a little longer, but my duty is in Pleven now.’

‘When do you leave?’

‘There’s a flight this morning, in three hours’ time. Lufthansa, but what can you do?’

‘Do you need a lift to the airport?’

‘I have permission to obtain a taxi. My ministry is paying, so who can refuse? It will be here very soon.’

‘I’m sorry we won’t get a chance to say goodbye properly. It’s been very interesting working with you.’

‘Not like one of those bloody civilians, eh?’

‘No, you’re not like one of those bloody civilians, Georgi.’

‘Blagodariya. Thank you.’

‘Did you hear that we’ve arrested Henry Lowther for the murder of Rose Shepherd?’

‘Yes, I heard.’

‘We believe he killed Miss Shepherd because she was attempting to blackmail him over the child. Unfortunately, Mr Lowther no longer had enough money to pay her off. His export business was failing. I guess he hadn’t kept up with the times.’

‘A bad choice of blackmail victim,’ said Kotsev. ‘What a pity.’

‘Well, Lowther wasn’t going to throw away everything that he’d done for his daughter. There was no way he could let the child be taken away from her after all that. Not to mention all the money he’d invested in her happiness. When you’ve already been involved in one crime, it isn’t a big step to the next one, is it?’

‘No, that is true.’

‘And Mr Lowther felt confident he’d get away with it, because he knew Miss Shepherd was a recluse and never talked to anyone.’

‘It will be a tight case?’

‘Yes. We found the gun when we searched the Lowthers’ bungalow. And his son was driving the car. So we’ve cleared that up, Georgi. I’m sorry if it means you wasted your time here.’

‘No, it was not a waste of time,’ said Kotsev. ‘Your theory is interesting. But it is a lot of gluposti. Bullshit.’

Fry was stunned into silence for a moment. ‘You think we have it wrong?’ Then she laughed. ‘You have your own ideas. You want it to be connected to your Bulgarian Mafia. But, Georgi –’

‘Where do you think the child is?’ asked Kotsev.

‘I don’t know. Do you?’

‘She was taken efficiently. She will be back home very soon.’

‘Back home?’

‘In Bulgaria. With her father.’

‘Georgi, I hope not.’

‘Could it not be for the best, Diane?’ he asked tentatively.

‘No, of course not. What do you mean?’

‘No matter. And the Zhivko bombing? Entirely unrelated?’

‘So far as we can tell.’

Fry wanted to ask Kotsev more. She wanted to ask him lots of things. But there was a hint of distance in his voice that made her hold back.

‘I will be pursuing my own enquiries in Pleven. Meanwhile, if I’m not available, you may speak to my colleague, Inspector Hristo Botev.’

‘Could you spell that for me?’

Kotsev spelled out the name. ‘Hristo Botev. You pronounce the “H” in the throat, almost as if it was a “C”.’

‘It sounds a bit Welsh.’

‘Yes, a bit Welsh. My friend Hristo is very celebrated in Bulgaria. A great hero.’