‘Not yet. I’ll keep you posted.’
He pauses. She thought he might have more answers by now, an official explanation for the death of the man in Cornwall.
‘I’m sorry it was you who found him,’ he adds.
Her too. She hangs up, pushing away an image of the dead man’s brutalised face, and walks on down the towpath, worried that she’s wasting Hart’s time. Should she go back, check that the man at the station is OK? If it was his son, he might have moved on already, although she remembers teenagers used to hang around the shelter all day, not going anywhere.
She spots the boat before she sees Jake, listing to one side and partially submerged. It was their home for twelve years and now it’s officially a wreck. Spent. All she saw from the train window was a glimpse through the trees. Up close the sight is even more shocking. Confirmation, as if it were needed, that what Jake and she had together is over.
And then she sees Jake, behind the towpath, sitting on the grass on his own, leaning back on his arms, tree-trunk legs stretched out before him. A fallen giant. He is staring at the boat and is yet to see her. For a moment she stands still, thinks about walking quietly away, catching the next train to London, but she’s come this far now and they should talk.
53
Silas
Silas looks around the empty platform. It took him a lot less time than it should have done to get here, his single blue light allowing him to skip plenty of red ones as he imagined Conor leaping in front of a high-speed train. He dropped everything after failing to access the security cameras on the station platform. All of them were down.
He lights up a cigarette, the first he’s had in a while, and walks back to double-check on the shelter. If Conor has been here, there’s no sign of him. It’s deserted apart from some old cans in the corner. Silas used to know when Conor had returned in the night to sleep in their shed at the bottom of the garden. He could smell the weed in the woodwork. Perhaps he has taken a train west or retreated into the countryside. Silas looks up at the woods on the hill, wondering if he’s out there somewhere.
He’s about to call Kate on his mobile, ask her if she’s still in the village, when Strover rings.
‘Any luck?’ she says.
It’s good of her to check, but he knows she hasn’t called about his missing son.
‘What have you found?’ he asks.
‘You might need to talk to the boss again.’
Strover gives him the details, far worse than he feared. Three more super-recogniser units whose main players have disappeared. One in Madrid four months ago, another last month in Amsterdam. And a third in Hamburg two weeks ago. No publicity, all three forces keen to keep their units out of the limelight. No one yet to make the link.
‘Civilians or cops?’ he asks.
‘Civilians.’
Strover explains how their families have been appealing for information, but so far there’s been no specific mention of their police work or the units – no suggestion that their disappearance has anything to do with their job. One reason why they haven’t come onto anyone’s radar before.
He thanks Strover for the call and heads back to his car. More dots. The disappearance of so many key super recognisers is sounding more coordinated by the minute. There’s no time to drop in on Kate now.
54
Kate
Jake doesn’t get up. He just smiles and watches as Kate approaches and sits down beside him on the grass in silence, both of them staring at the sunken boat. The sight of it is suddenly overwhelming. This was their home. She turns from Jake, wiping away a tear. The towpath is empty and no boats are moored nearby. People are keeping their distance, out of respect or maybe something else. The fear of fire is contagious.
‘I saw it from the train,’ she says eventually. ‘And then we stopped and I—’
‘It’s good of you to drop by,’ Jake says, interrupting her.
‘I’m so sorry, Jake.’
‘I’ve managed to save some of your stuff—’
‘I was on my way up to London, to see Rob,’ she says. ‘I need to call him.’
There’s no reason to introduce Rob so abruptly, but she’s suddenly racked with guilt. She hasn’t told Rob she’s not on the train. He was going to meet her at Paddington.
‘Are you OK?’ Jake asks, still looking ahead at the boat. ‘About seeing him?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she says, turning to Jake for the first time.
Jake doesn’t answer. No need. He knows her too well, her too-quick reply. She is nervous about the encounter with Rob. Meeting him face to face, on a crowded platform at Paddington station. Maybe that’s why she jumped off the train. A part of her believes – hopes – that he will seem his old self and take her in his arms. That everything that’s happened in the past two days can be forgotten as if it were a bad dream. But she can’t help worrying. What if her head tells her he’s his double? She’s not sure she can cope with that. Not yet. She will remind herself that she probably has Capgras, and that it’s likely to be temporary. But it won’t be easy.
‘Want some tea?’ Jake asks.
She manages a smile. Jake used to believe everything between them could be sorted with a mug of tea. And for many years it could be, until things deteriorated too much.
‘Back at Bex’s?’ he adds.
Ten minutes later, she’s sitting in Bex’s kitchen, a stray cat at her feet, waiting for Jake to come through from the other room. It’s strange seeing him in Bex’s home. She used to spend hours here, with Bex, complaining about him and their failing relationship.
On the walk up from the canal she told him that she’d seen someone who might be DI Hart’s missing son, but she didn’t go into details. They also talked about the dead man in Cornwall and who might have killed him. He seems to agree with DI Hart that it’s drug-related, internecine rivalry. She’d forgotten that gang crime used to be his journalism beat, before he chucked it all in to write books.
‘I rinsed it as best I could, but it’ll need a proper wash,’ Jake says, coming back into the kitchen with an old orange dress of hers. He used to like her wearing it; one reason she left it behind.
‘It stinks of diesel.’ She sniffs the material. The smell takes her back. All her clothes used to smell. ‘Thank you – for rescuing it.’
‘You need to ring Rob,’ Jake says, trying to sound casual as he pours the tea. ‘Tell him you’re running late.’
‘I will.’ She casts an eye over Jake as he fetches the milk from the fridge. He’s lost weight and his hair is neat at the sides, like it was when they first met. Even his clothes are smarter than she remembers. Making an effort but not for her. He didn’t know she was coming. She hopes there’s someone new in his life.
‘You liked him, when you met at the hospital,’ she says. ‘The real Rob.’
‘“Like” might be putting it a bit strongly.’ He sits down opposite her.
His beard’s trim too. She’s pleased for him. Only his eyes look tired. Maybe some good will come out of the boat fire, force him into new things, a better life. She’s not sure he’s ever fully accepted that their relationship is over.