‘You mean Jay?’

  Oh, that’s right. Jay. He’d reminded Boyd of Jason Statham. ‘He was driving us backwards.’

  ‘And nearly crashed right into us,’ Emma added.

  ‘You came to get us?’

  She nodded.

  He was suddenly furious, ‘For fuck’s –’

  She gently shushed him; he was getting louder again.

  ‘We got away. No one was hurt.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Apart from you.’

  ‘What about Nix? What happened to him?’

  She shook her head. ‘Something at the campsite.’

  ‘What?’

  The curtain suddenly swished aside and balding male nurse stuck his head in. ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘Groggy.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Any whiplash pains in your neck or spine, Mr Boyd?’

  Boyd frowned. Emma answered for him. ‘No, he’s fine.’ She looked back at her father. ‘It wasn’t that big a prang in the car, was it, Dad?’

  Ahhh… Okay. He was up to speed. ‘No. I’m thirsty, though.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll get you some water.’ Then he was gone.

  ‘I see what you did there,’ he wheezed.

  ‘That was your story, Dad,’ she replied. ‘You said to say we had a prang in the car.’

  He didn’t remember saying that. So not completely fine yet, then. ‘You were telling me… something’s happened?’

  ‘There was a big fire. At that campsite.’

  ‘What?’

  She nodded. ‘It was on BBC South East. Dozens and dozens of those trailers on fire.’

  ‘What about –’ He lowered his voice. ‘What about the Russians? What about Nix?’

  She shook her head and shrugged.

  ‘Where’s Okeke?’

  ‘You asked me that already, Dad. She’s at home.’

  ‘Where’s Ozzie?’

  Emma smiled. ‘Aww, so you do love him. He’s at home, obviously. But I rang him and he said to send you a lick!’

  Boyd smiled. ‘Okay. All good. Everyone’s good. Great.’

  He closed his eyes, let his head sink back into the pillow and allowed himself to drift into a fitful sleep.

  At 7 a.m. when the A&E shift changed over, a doctor came in to give Boyd a quick examination. ‘That’s a nasty bang on your forehead,’ he said, teasing the dressing aside to look at the stitches between his brows. ‘Airbag?’ he asked.

  Boyd decided it would be imprudent to tell him it had been the barrel of some Russian hitman’s gun. He shrugged. ‘Maybe the steering wheel.’

  ‘You’ll need to return to outpatients to have those stitches removed in a few days,’ he said.

  Boyd wasn’t sure if he was talking about the ear stitches or if there were new ones hidden beneath his bandage-turban. He didn’t like to ask.

  Emma called a local taxi company and by eight they were back outside their house.

  ‘Poor, poor Ozzie,’ muttered Emma as she fumbled in her bag for the front-door key. ‘He’s been stuck indoors since yesterday teatime.’

  ‘Great,’ said Boyd. ‘There’ll be protest craps all over the place.’

  ‘Well, don’t get angry at him. It’s not his fault.’ She peered through the letterbox. ‘Ozzie?’

  That should surely have drawn him clattering along the hallway floor to the front door. But there was no sound. She straightened up and carried on rummaging in her bag.

  Boyd ducked down and tried the same thing. ‘Ozzie boy! You there?’

  No response.

  ‘Ah!’ said Emma. She produced the jangling keys, jammed one into the lock and turned it.

  The door creaked open.

  ‘Ozzie?’ she tried again.

  Boyd suddenly felt a twinge of concern. ‘Stay right there, Em.’ He took a few steps forward and pushed the study door inwards. ‘Ozzie?’ he called tentatively.

  He wasn’t there. There was no poo on the floor either.

  Boyd took another couple of steps down the hall, then stuck his head into the lounge.

  No sign of the dog.

  ‘Ozzie?’ he said more loudly, hoping it might provoke the bleary-eyed idiot to trot out of the dining room. He quickly checked both dining room and kitchen. With a growing sense of dread, he called up the stairs.

  ‘Ozzie! We’re home!’

  They both heard it.

  A single gentle thump from above. The hallway ceiling creaked as something moved slowly across the floor of the front bedroom.

  Shit. The thought had been there at the back of his mind since they’d left the hospital. If they found Nix, they can find me.

  And of course they weren’t just a couple of local scrotes. They were pros. Quite possibly ex-KGB/GRU – at least the older one might have been.

  The ceiling creaked again, then, finally, between the bannister support struts above he saw Ozzie’s twitching wet nostrils poking through.

  Thank God.

  ‘Ozzie?’

  He seemed reluctant to come down.

  ‘Come on, mate.’

  Ozzie let out a solitary whimper in response.

  ‘Dad? Is he okay?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s fine, love,’ Boyd answered as he started up the stairs, not entirely sure what the problem was. At the top he rounded the balustrade and approached the dog.

  Ozzie’s tail thudded against the floor. He was giving Boyd serious side-eyes, not quite able to look him in the face.

  ‘What is it, mate?’ Boyd asked gently.

  Ozzie doubled down on the side-eyes. He licked his lips. His tail thumped. Both of them stress responses, Emma had informed Boyd days ago. Both signs of a deeply troubled, possibly traumatized animal.

  Boyd had a premonition that there’d be something waiting for him in the front bedroom. A message. A warning.

  We know where you live.

  He pushed the door of his bedroom inwards.

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  He was right. The message was loud and clear.

  Ozzie had left a protest crap, balanced like a piece of installation art, right in the middle of one of his pillows.

  47

  Okeke and Jay arrived shortly after with McMuffins and hash browns for breakfast.

  As they sat around the dining table, nursing mugs of tea and passing the bottle of ketchup, Okeke updated them all on last night’s news about the campsite fire.

  ‘It was the Russians. About a third of the trailers were burned down. Jay took you and Emma to the hospital and I waited in the van. When backup arrived, I told them I’d been driving past, seen the flames and heard gunshots. They’re saying it was probably arson. They think a butane canister might have been set off and that was the gunshot I thought I’d heard.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Because of the steady wind fanning the flames and the close proximity of the caravans, they just caught fire and went up one after the other.’

  ‘My God,’ said Emma.

  ‘Apparently it took five fire crews to put it all out,’ said Jay.

  Boyd grimaced. ‘Any bodies?’

  Okeke nodded slowly. ‘They found one. They’re going through the site and searching in case there are any more. At the moment they’re saying it’s probably a homeless person.’

  Boyd very much wanted to believe it was one of the hitmen, but he suspected not. ‘So probably Nix.’ He shook his head. ‘They must have found him.’

  ‘Jesus,’ whispered Jay. ‘What do you reckon they did to him?’

  Boyd glared across at him, shutting him down and shooting a quick glance at his daughter. Luckily Emma missed it; she was busy feeding Ozzie her hash brown. ‘Not much, Jay, given the time they had. But they did what they came to do. They found him and executed him. Job done.’

  Emma looked up. ‘They murdered him?’ She looked ashen.

  Boyd nodded. ‘That’s what this was all about. Punishing him and shutting him up. It’s all over, Ems. I suspect they’ve been watching me, in case Nix reached out to me.’ Boyd shook his head. ‘So basically I did exactly what they wanted me to do. I led them straight to him.’

  ‘But what does that mean for us?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Boyd said. ‘It means they’ve got a chunk of their money over here now and they’ve silenced the man who helped them do that. They’ll buy some nice London property, several racehorses and a few cabinet ministers; they’ll join polite society and live happily ever after.’

  Okeke nodded. ‘That sounds about right.’

  ‘It is what it is,’ Boyd added. ‘Sometimes the bad guys win.’

  ‘What about you, Dad? They were following you, and you and Jay half killed one of them!’

  ‘If it was important to them to have me dead, I’d be dead already.’ He could see his daughter’s mind was spinning through unsettling scenarios.

  ‘It’s over, Ems. I promise. They got Nix. Papa Salikov got his revenge and saved face, and tidied up a loose end. It’s done.’

  ‘You think they’ll try and find someone else to carry on laundering their money?’ asked Okeke.

  ‘I’m sure they already have. It’s no different to smuggling drugs; you need alternative routes – built-in redundancies in case one avenue gets shut down. Nix told me he’d wanted out. Well, I guess he got his wish.’

  ‘Jesus,’ whispered Emma.

  She looked from him to Okeke. ‘Dad?’ she asked. ‘How are you going to square this with work?’

  Boyd looked at Okeke, trying to read her expression. ‘I think we should keep this to ourselves,’ he said eventually.

  His colleague looked relieved. ‘Too right! I’ve not worked my arse off to have my career go tits up now!’

  Jay huffed. ‘God, this really is like TV.’

  Okeke shut him up with a glare. ‘I’ll say I’d found the tac vest in the canteen and just hadn’t had time to sign it back in. They already think it was kids who started the fire.’

  ‘I don’t think Her Madge will want anything investigating that takes away from her migrant theory,’ Boyd added.

  Emma looked shocked. ‘So neither of you are going to tell anyone?’

  They looked at each other. ‘This is something we both need to agree on, Okeke,’ Boyd said.

  ‘They came for Nix,’ she said. ‘I don’t think they’d think twice about coming for us. We’re just the little people, guv. Let’s not be inconvenient little people, eh?’

  ‘You’re right,’ Boyd said. ‘It’s shit, but I’ll be honest – this is just a job for me now. I’m working it until I get to retire, that’s all. I’m not a crusader.’

  Feigning ignorance. That was the smart choice.

  Okeke nodded. ‘Okay.’

  Boyd looked at Emma. ‘I should never have let you get involved,’ he said.

  ‘Dad.’ She raised her hands. ‘I’m not involved. I know nothing. I –’ she shook her head – ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Well, let’s keep it that way.’

  48

  The post-Sunday lunch walk seemed to have become a firm part of his weekly routine. The long route from East Hill down to the Rock-a-Nore cove, then along the beach towards the pier and back home. It was a good two-hour-walk during which Boyd could decompress, unpack his thoughts and file them tidily away.

  And he had a lot to pick over. A week had passed and so far there had been no consequences. The investigation into the fire at Sea Breeze Campsite had been passed from the police to the fire service. The fire itself and the body found in the trailer had become the tragic story. Local kids with nothing better to do, and a body so badly burned that there was no possibility of identification. A local councillor had talked about lessons needing to be learned, how more needed to be done to engage the local teenagers. And that led to a discussion about the many closed-down campsites along the south coast. That they shouldn’t be allowed to fall to rack and ruin, and should instead be put to good use or cleared out, and not left to become festering fire hazards.

  Boyd had dialled in an extra week of sick leave and received a Get Well Soon card from the CID team.

  Even Hatcher had signed it.

  He realised he wasn’t ready to lose his job or be put out to pasture. He needed the make-busy. He needed to be back in a noisy office, dealing with mundane crimes, filing local criminal intelligence tidbits and rubbing along with other human beings.

  Emma had been quite right that there was life after loss. She hadn’t put it as succinctly as that, but that had been her guiding instinct through it all. And, to be honest, getting Ozzie had been another good idea of hers. Not a puppy – everybody went for puppies – but another old-ish bugger, like himself, who deserved to have a second crack at life.

  Speaking of Ozzie… Boyd looked around. ‘Oz?’

  He’d absentmindedly unclipped the lead from Ozzie’s harness so that he could go carry out some investigative door-to-doors among the overturned hulls of the fishing boats and the bric-a-brac of discarded tackle.

  ‘Ozzie!’ he called again.

  The dog casually emerged from behind a boat, making his way towards Boyd with an I’ll come when I’m done expression on his face.

  Then a figure emerged from the side of the hull, taking Boyd by surprise.

  It was a slight figure with a hood up, its face hidden in shadow.

  The hooded figure approached, holding something out towards him. It was small, black, sack-like.

  The hood was pushed back; it was that woman who’d busted him over poo-gate a week ago.

  At arm’s length, she held the small bag by the knot she’d tied at the top. ‘It’s even more gross when it’s not your own dog’s,’ she said, pulling a face.

  He took it from her apologetically. ‘Thank you. I lost sight of him. I’m really sorry about that,’ he said, with what he hoped was a disarming smile.

  ‘So you should be,’ she scolded him, but not unkindly. ‘Kids play here, remember. I told you last time.’

  He nodded. ‘Right. Yes, I’ll be more mindful.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re that policeman, aren’t you? The one they had to bleep out?’

  Christ.

  ‘I saw you on Facebook. Somebody uploaded a video.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t know what you said, but it was quite funny watching the expressions on the faces of the officers behind you.’

  ‘It wasn’t that bad a word,’ he said. ‘I just –’

  She raised hand. ‘I don’t need to know, thanks.’

  ‘Right. Sorry.’

  ‘You’re a local celebrity,’ she said, chuckling. Then her face straightened. ‘Oh.’

  She nodded past him. ‘Look out.’

  ‘What?’

  She pointed. ‘He’s crapping again.’

  49

  Chief Superintendent Margaret Hatcher looked up from her laptop screen.

  ‘Ah, take a seat, Boyd.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  He sat down and waited for her to finish pecking out an email. He heard the soft woosh as she sent it on its way.

  ‘So, here we are, then,’ she said as she lowered the laptop’s lid and pushed it to one side. ‘How are you feeling now? Better, I hope.’

  ‘Yes, much better,’ Boyd replied. ‘Ready to get back to work.’

  ‘Good. You really have had an unfortunate start here, haven’t you? All those lumps and bumps to your head?’

  He sighed. ‘Luckily I have a pretty thick skull.’

  She nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, I think you probably do.’ She sat back in her chair. ‘Maybe there was too much confusion in the Nix case. A little too much to throw at you straight away after so much time off.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he replied. There was a tone to her voice that he couldn’t unpick. ‘It was a bit of a messy case, ma’am.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘Indeed,’ she replied slowly. ‘Very messy.’

  What was going on here? He had the distinct impression that they were talking about one thing but pulling faces about another.

  ‘You’ve been updated by DCI Flack?’ she asked.

  Boyd nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am. It was a migrant-trafficking incident that went wrong. Just like you said.’

  She shot him a tight smile. ‘Border Force say Nix’s finances have been forensically examined. It seems he was struggling with quite a few rather nasty gambling debts. And dealing with some very unpleasant types.’

  Is she fishing? Is she testing to see if I’m going to query anything? He couldn’t tell. He decided that playing dumb remained his best option. ‘Right.’

  ‘CPS reckon Rigby will get at least three years inside for assaulting you, Boyd. And probably another couple for the counterfeit drugs business he was running.’

  ‘Good. That’s a good result.’

  ‘Well, anyway.’ Her lips tightened into a perfunctory smile. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever really know what happened out there in the Channel, will we?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘So, it’s time to start over and put this one behind us. Do you feel ready to start over, DCI Boyd?’

  He was damned if he was going to give her a Yes, ma’am to that. Instead, he let his brows arch upwards. They sat like that for a solid ten seconds: Boyd with his raised brows, Her Madge challenging him with a direct stare over the rim of her half-moon lenses.

  ‘You know, Boyd,’ she said eventually, ‘this country’s an island once again. We’re on our own now. We really do all need to pull together.’

  She let that hang in the air for a moment, almost daring him to comment.

  Finally he nodded. Keep your enemies close…

  ‘Well, good,’ she said. ‘It’s good to have you back on board, Boyd.’ She gestured towards the door. ‘Now, off you fuck.’

  50

  Boyd’s first week back had been uneventful. In fact, exactly what he’d been hoping for a fortnight ago – an easy settling period with nothing more taxing than HR paperwork and a few bite-size cases involving simple checks on the computer system, and a couple of no-comment interviews thrown in.

  On Friday lunchtime he decided to wander down to the pier and grab a bag of chips and a coffee at the café. He met Okeke and Minter waiting in the queue and they exchanged some idle banter about the previous night’s crime log.