The chief inspector shook his head, so Tomek dragged himself out of the chair and headed out of the room. As he shut the door behind him, he caught Chey leaving the kitchen, a mug of tea in his hand. As soon as he locked eyes with Tomek, a childish grin exploded onto his face.

‘What is it?’ Tomek asked, suddenly feeling deflated and defeated.

‘You looking forward to your sex party tonight?’

‘I’m not going there to have sex, Chey.’

‘Not tonight, you won’t. But that doesn’t mean to say you might not go there next month on a personal basis.’

Tomek hadn’t considered that. Maybe he would.

‘Just make sure you’ve got the same costume, so people recognise you.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Your costume. Make sure you wear the same one so people know who you are.’ Chey stared into Tomek’s eyes, and after a few moments, said, ‘You do have a costume for tonight, don’t you?’

He shook his head.

‘Fuck! I completely forgot. Could you get me one?’

‘Absolutely not. No way.’

Tomek reached into his pocket and produced his wallet. He pulled out a handful of notes. ‘Here’s fifty quid,’ he said.

‘How old are you? Who has cash these days? It’s all on your phone or on contactless.’

Tomek ignored the comment. ‘Take it to the nearest fancy dress shop and get me one. Please. I don’t have time to go out before the meet.’

Chey surveyed the money in Tomek’s hands. At first he was dubious, hesitant, but then excitement quickly kicked in. He snatched the money from Tomek and said, ‘I get to keep the change?’

‘Fine.’

‘Awesome! Leave it with me. I’m going to get you the best outfit ever.’

And with that, the young man grabbed his coat and car keys and hurried out of the room. It wasn’t until the slow door to the incident room finally closed shut that Tomek realised he’d just given fifty quid and the instruction of finding a fancy dress costume to the worst person possible: an immature twenty-five-year-old. It was like giving a firearm to a baby.

Not a good idea.

Before he could dwell on it for too long, his phone began vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw who was calling: Abigail.

The first time in nearly a week.

Big of her, he thought, to make the first move. He admired and respected it.

‘Hey,’ he answered.

‘Hey.’ Her voice was awkward, cold.

‘You all right?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. You?’

‘Not bad. Busy.’

‘Same.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So…’ she started. ‘Do you… I was thinking, what’re you doing tonight? I thought maybe I could come round to yours, we could cook a chilli or some fajitas, watch something on the television and maybe talk about what happened…’

The hesitation and fear in her voice were tangible, like she was clinging onto his every word, and for every second that passed, every second that he didn’t answer, her grip gradually weakened and weakened.

‘Abs…’ he began. ‘I would love to, but…’

‘It’s fine. I understand.’

‘I’ve got a work thing. Otherwise I would…’

‘Yeah. No, I get it. I…’ She sniffed back the catch in her throat. ‘Maybe some other time.’

‘Yeah. Maybe some other time.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Tomek had never wanted to hurt anyone in his life more than he wanted to hurt Chey for what he’d done. The team, of which there had only been a few left at the time – mercifully – had burst into fits of laughter as soon as they’d seen the outfit the young constable had chosen for Tomek. The little prick had left it right to the last minute before giving it to him as well, leaving Tomek with no choice but to wear it. He’d done a lot of stupid things in his life, the majority of them when he’d been in his early twenties, when he’d been young, naïve and fearless, and hadn’t cared what anybody thought about him. But now, at over forty years old, he had never felt more self-conscious than he did as he pulled the car into Melback Manor’s sprawling estate. The sound of gravel crunching under the tyres was the second loudest sound in the car – second to Rachel’s unbearable sniggering.

‘You can either shut up or I’m turning this thing around and going back home,’ he told her.

‘Yes, sir, sorry, sir,’ Rachel replied before breaking into another fit of laughter.

But before Tomek could retort, or even think about turning the vehicle around, a man wearing a tailored suit and Volto mask approached them, his hands behind his back. He waited patiently for Tomek to lower the window.

‘Your keys, sir,’ the man said, his voice feigning a faint Italian accent.

‘There’s a fucking valet?’

‘Yes, sir. You can collect your keys at the end of the night.’

Tomek sighed. ‘Let me guess, I have to find them in the bottom of a fishbowl, do I?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Brilliant.’

The man opened the car door for Tomek and took a step back, keeping his arms politely behind his back. Tomek was left with no choice. He didn’t like the idea of leaving his car in the middle of a country estate with no immediate access to his keys, but he quickly realised he was going to have to fully immerse himself in the experience whether he liked it or not. Reluctantly, he climbed out of the car, handed the keys across, and watched as the man drove off into the darkness round the corner of the estate.

‘You’ll get it back,’ Rachel said as she joined his side. ‘Right after he’s taken it for a joyride.’