“We’ve been set up!” Joseph spat.

“Best worry about that later,” Edward said, hanging out of the open window to look behind them.

“They coming after us?”

“Not yet. We’ll never get away in this. It’s too slow and too easy to spot. We need to dump it.” He stared up the road ahead. “There,” he said, pointing towards a narrow track that led away from the main road. Joseph pumped on the brake to slow them enough to take the sharp left hand turn. The road was paved for fifty yards and then unfinished: a farmer’s track, used to get into the fields, rutted with deep ridges from heavy machinery. They bumped around, the suspension groaning in protest until the track turned to the right and entered a dense copse of trees and then petered out. Joseph brought the truck to a halt.

They sat in silence, trying to regain a measure of composure.

Joseph looked hopeless. “What are we going to do? We can’t stay here.”

Edward waited until his heart slowed a little.

“We’ll leave the truck and go on foot until we can find something else.” He opened the door and jumped down. “Come on.”

The main road cut through the fields two hundred yards to the north. The copse hid the truck from sight, but they would be visible as soon as they left its shelter. They had no choice. They set off, following the line of a low hedge, both of them alert to the sounds of traffic. The terrain was wet and muddy, with long swathes composed of ankle-deep sludge that clung to their feet and plastered their legs. There was a gentle slope that led up to an elevated point. They followed it.

“What happened?” Joseph said out as they ran.

“Someone grassed.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Butler? Who else?”

“You think?”

“They must’ve got to him.”

They clambered up the incline, the view opening wide as they gained height. The top offered them an elevated vantage point and, from there, they could see over the valley and into the facility, onto the rows of storage huts arranged beyond. The wide parking area where they had collected the merchandise was visible: the three remaining trucks had been blocked in by two green-painted military police lorries and two dozen police, several of them armed, were guarding a line of men prostrate on the ground before them. The prisoners had their hands behind their backs as two detectives worked up and down the line, securing their wrists with handcuffs.

Joseph looked over the scene, and Edward watched as the colour drained away from his face. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s bloody Billy,” Joseph said. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Edward paused, taking the opportunity to catch his breath. “Really?”

“He grassed us up.”

“Don’t be daft,” Edward said, because that was what Joseph would have expected him to say.

“I know, but where is he? He wasn’t here this morning. The only one of the chaps who didn’t turn up the morning we all get tumbled by the Old Bill. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“Just a coincidence.” Edward did not want to push any harder than that. He had left the dots. It was not his place to join them, too.

The wind suddenly picked up, bending the tops of the nearby poplars like sword-tips. Branches––small and dead––were blown from the trees and rattled as they fell to the ground.

“Get down!”

A road ran twenty yards below them, cresting the hill half a mile ahead. A police car suddenly sped from around a hidden corner, its lights flashing and siren blaring loudly. The car roared around the bend and down towards the base. They dropped down, landing in a thick puddle of mud. They stayed there until the sound of the siren faded into silence. When they stood, fearfully checking the road to make sure it was clear, they were covered head to foot in muck.

Edward tried to wipe it from his clothes but it was wet and adhesive, and the attempt just made matters worse.

Joseph looked lost. “I don’t know what to do, Doc,” he said helplessly.

This was it, then. Everything Edward had worked towards was approaching a conclusion. He just had to approach it carefully, make it all seem natural and easy. The first thing he needed was Joseph’s support. The speech of reassurance and persuasion sprang full-blown to his mind. “First of all, we don’t panic,” he said. “We got out. If we’re careful and we move quickly, they won’t be able to find us. It’s not like we’ve never done this before.”

“This ain’t the jungle, Doc.”

“No, it’s not, but we know what we’re doing. How far to Halewell Close from here?”

“Fifty miles––maybe a little less.”

“That’s where we should go.”

“You want to walk fifty miles?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Why there?”

“We need to speak to your Aunt. This has gone on long enough.”

62

VIOLET COSTELLO MUST HAVE SEEN them as they loped across the fields at the back of the house. They were covered in mud, scratched from clambering through brambles and almost completely spent. They had struck out for Evesham, then followed the route of the A438 to Pershore, Upton-upon-Severn, Welland and Ledbury. They had seen several police cars, and had navigated around a road-block on the road outside Bradlow. It took them eleven hours to cover the fifty miles and they were exhausted.

The storm had gathered strength and now it lashed the countryside with wind and rain. It was dusk and the lantern that had been lit and hung under the porte cochère swung to and fro in the intensifying wind.

Violet opened the front door and came to them. “What’s happened?”

“The police––they were waiting. They arrested everyone.”

“George?”

“Everyone.”

“What about you?”

“Lucky. We were at the back.”

Violet stiffened the line of her jaw. “Get inside,” she said. She called for Hargreaves and told the butler to draw two baths. “You need to clean yourselves up.”

Joseph pointed dumbly at the candles that had been lit.

“The storm’s put the electricity out,” she explained. “It’s been on the wireless. It’s supposed to be quite fierce tonight.” She shook her head in weary resignation. “The perfect end to a perfect day.”

Joseph paused. “Is there something else?”

“It’s Chiara.”

Edward stepped forward. “Is she alright?” he said quickly.

She sighed. “It’s that bloody dog. You might as well see it now.”

“He’s come back?”

“In a manner of speaking. In the back yard.”

Joseph led Edward through the house to the rear entrance. There was a wide courtyard, catching and amplifying the wind as it swooped around the house. A crate had been placed next to the wall. It was three feet long by two feet wide. The lid had been prised free with a chisel, the wood splintered around the nails as Joseph flipped it upside-down with the toe of his shoe. Edward looked down. The body of the old dog was inside, resting on a bed of balled-up newspaper. The dog’s fur was damp in the rain. A wreath had been laid on top of him.

* * *

EDWARD WENT UPSTAIRS to his usual room. A set of Joseph’s clothes had been laid out for him––a suit, a shirt, even a new pair of shoes––and a bath was running in the bathroom. He stripped off his muddy clothes and looked at his body in the mirror: his skin was streaked with mud, and his legs had been shredded by brambles and thorns, dried blood running down from the scratches.

He reclined in the hot water, closed his eyes and listened to the rain beating against the window panes. For the first time all day, he had no audience to persuade, no performance to give. He allowed himself to relax. The day had been perfect. He had ensured that they were last into the base, and then had stalled the engine so that the other lorries could draw further ahead. There had been enough distance between them and the others for escape to be possible and then, when detective inspector Murphy had had the opportunity to renege on their deal, he had chosen not to. He must have removed Billy from the street. Those were the main strokes, but even the details had been better than he could have expected. He had expected that he would have to prompt Joseph to the conclusion that Billy might have been involved but that hadn’t been necessary. He had sown the seed himself. It would be a simple matter to help him nurture that doubt into the certainty that it was Billy who had sold them out. After all, where was he? Who was the only man who hadn’t turned up today? Yes, he thought happily, it really was perfect. He spread soapsuds luxuriously up and down his arms and across his chest, closing his eyes and sinking his head beneath the surface so that he could scrub the dirt from his hair. He emerged again, blinking water away, and chuckled at how it could not have gone any better.