Thorne looked back at the car again and saw that Nicklin was still watching. He wondered what his job was?

Nursemaid? Straight man? Fall guy?

At that moment, it certainly didn’t feel like he was much of a policeman.

Brigstocke had clearly pulled out all the stops quickly. Half an hour later, Chief Superintendent Robin Duggan was waiting at an otherwise deserted Abersoch police station to greet them, along with a handful of PCs and the same custody sergeant Thorne had been shouting at twenty-four hours earlier. The man did not look overly pleased to be renewing their acquaintance.

While Nicklin and Batchelor were being processed for a second time, Duggan led Thorne to one side.

‘So not finished on Bardsey yet then?’

‘Not yet.’

‘It’s all going OK, though?’

‘You know how it is,’ Thorne said. ‘Sometimes these things take a lot longer than you expect.’

‘It’s best to be thorough.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Nothing I should know, though?’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as a second body.’

‘Right,’ Thorne said, quietly. He could have done with a nice grave-shaped hole opening up to swallow him. It made perfect sense, of course, that Brigstocke would have told him; that as a senior officer on the force concerned, Duggan would be the most obvious port of call in terms of getting the story of the murdered woman checked out. Thorne’s decision to keep Nicklin’s latest confession to himself had made him look self-serving and duplicitous. As it was, Duggan seemed content, for the time being at least, with having made Thorne look stupid.

‘A second murder’s going to make things a lot more complicated,’ he said. ‘And I don’t think anyone wants that.’

‘No, sir.’ Thorne guessed it was time to show a little deference.

‘So, fingers crossed it’s all bull.’

Thorne nodded.

‘I’ll see what I can do about confirming things one way or another, checking missing persons records from back then.’ Duggan straightened his cap. ‘Long before my time, of course, but there’s still a few knocking about who might be able to help.’

‘Thanks, sir.’

Duggan nodded towards Nicklin, who was being walked back to the desk from one of the rooms off the custody suite. ‘Let’s hope it’s just mind-games, eh? You look anxious to get home.’

The custody sergeant waved a couple of PCs over to the desk then shouted across to let Duggan know that both prisoners had been searched and were ready to be escorted to the cells. Thorne asked the PCs to hold on and walked across.

‘I’ll come with you.’ He looked at Nicklin and Batchelor. ‘But let’s take one at a time.’ He thought about it, then pointed. ‘Him first…’

As soon as they were on the other side of the door and in the corridor leading down to the cells, Thorne moved up close to Batchelor. He nodded to the PC to let him know it was all right to step back a little. He put a hand on Batchelor’s arm.

‘Anything you want to tell me, Jeff?’

‘About what?’

‘About this. About the latest revelation from your pal, Stuart.’

‘He’s not my pal.’

‘Whatever. Your travelling companion. Anything at all you might be able to help us with here?’

With his handcuffs removed, Batchelor was rubbing at his wrists. He blinked, closing his eyes for a second or more each time. ‘I’d like to speak to my wife,’ he said. ‘Can you arrange that?’

‘Well, there are plenty of phones here.’ Thorne nodded. ‘I can ask.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It shouldn’t be a problem, but you’ll have to help me first.’

‘How?’

‘This cock and bull about a second body… all of us going back to the island tomorrow to find this woman he killed. You sure there isn’t anything you can tell me about that?’

Batchelor tensed and seemed almost to shrink a little. He looked like he was in physical pain, as though his face were a smooth plaster mask that was cracking with it, and Thorne saw the face of the man who had discovered his daughter’s body. He watched Batchelor’s Adam’s apple move in his neck as he swallowed hard.

‘Is Nicklin threatening you?’ Thorne looked for a reaction. ‘Is that what this is about? Are you afraid he’s going to hurt you?’ Thorne felt the need to ask, but was well aware how stupid the question was. Anyone who knew Stuart Nicklin and was not afraid of him had as many screws loose as he did.

Batchelor looked away from him, shaking his head.

Thorne turned to the PC, said, ‘He’s all yours,’ and went back to fetch Nicklin.

Halfway along the corridor, Nicklin looked at him and said, ‘Nice to get the personal touch. Very much appreciated.’

Thorne did not answer. He said nothing until Nicklin had been shown to his cell. Then, just before the door was locked, Thorne stepped in after him. Nicklin looked momentarily thrown, his eyes darting to the PC by the door, as if he thought that Thorne were about to attack him. Nicklin could see by the look on the PC’s face that the officer had similar concerns.

‘Wouldn’t be the first time, would it, Tom?’

Five years before, after Nicklin had got a little over-involved in a case Thorne was working and with people Thorne was close to, a message had been sent via one of Nicklin’s fellow inmates. A message in broken glass, delivered at dinner time.

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Thorne said. He took another step into the cell. Pushed the door shut on the confused PC. ‘I just wanted you to know that I’ve been reading the letters you wrote to your mother, OK, Stuart?’ He studied Nicklin’s face, looking for a reaction. ‘Really interesting stuff, seriously. So, there’s not very much I don’t know when it comes to what’s going on inside your big, bald head. I know all about your mummy issues, not that they were much of a surprise. I know what it’s like for you inside… Professor. So, whatever the hell this stupid game is you think you’re playing now, you need to remember that I know far more about you than you do about me. I don’t care what you think you know or what you think you’re capable of doing with that information.’

Nicklin lowered himself carefully on to the bare, blue mattress.

‘There’s no way you’re going to win,’ Thorne said. ‘You need to know that. You’re wasting your time, because now I’m in your head.’ He tapped a finger hard against the side of his head, shook it slowly. ‘You’re not in mine.’

THIRTY-ONE

After Fletcher and Jenks had made their preference clear, Thorne dropped them off at the same place they’d stayed the previous night; a pub with rooms above it, that looked as good as deserted. He told them he’d pick them up in the morning and that he hoped to know where they’d be going when he did. The two prison officers implied that a return trip to Bardsey would be all right by them, that like Andy Barber they were looking forward to collecting the overtime. In no doubt that they were also looking forward to a night on the beer, Thorne left them and drove on to the Black Horse, with Holland following in the support car.

Elwyn Pritchard was predictably thrilled to see even two of the previous night’s guests returning. Even so, he still went through the charade of checking the reservations book to make sure he had rooms available. It was made fairly clear that this time the kitchen would not be opened specially and, once he had handed over the room keys on their reassuringly oversized fobs, he was happy enough to let Thorne and Holland carry their own bags.

As they trudged upstairs, they hastily made dinner arrangements.

‘Chinese?’

‘Not sure there’s anything else.’

‘See you back downstairs in ten minutes…’

It was the sort of all-purpose place that served pizza as well as prawn balls. It may have been Pritchard’s warnings about the ratio of seagull to MSG in the food, or the fact that nobody working there looked like they’d be able to find China on a map, but either way, they both decided to settle for chips and walked back towards the hotel eating their dinners out of Styrofoam containers.