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“IT’S A MIRACLE THERE WEREN’T more victims,” Fielding says to Walker. “I’ve started trying to make a list of key witnesses, like you asked. I keep hearing that one guy—member of staff, kitchen pot-wash lad—was a real star. They’re saying he helped get a load of people out. He’s a nice lad. Bit shell-shocked. Doesn’t seem to think of himself as a hero either, which is always the case with the ones that really are. Should put him forward for one of those public bravery awards or something. Look. He’s sitting just over there. Come and meet him.”

Walker follows DS Fielding over to where a strapping young guy sits on a patch of grass staring into the middle distance, pale and worn and hollow-eyed beneath his suntan.

“Here he is,” Fielding says. “What was your name again, mate?”

“Eddie,” the boy says. “Eddie Walker.”

Fielding turns to DI Walker. “Huh. That’s a coincidence. Suppose it’s a common enough name.” He looks back to the boy. To Walker again. “Funny. If I didn’t know better I’d say...” He trails off, looking confused. Walker can see his brain trying to assimilate the impossible.

Now the boy, or rather something between a boy and a man, is getting to his feet, staring at Walker the whole time. Walker sees the exact moment it registers.

“What the fuck,” Eddie says. From the clumsy way he says “fuck” Walker can tell he doesn’t use the word very often.

Mum brought her boys up not to swear.

“If you could give us a moment,” Walker says, turning to DS Fielding.

“Yeah. Sure... boss.” But even as Fielding walks away he glances back over his shoulder once, twice, as though trying to make sense of what he’s seeing.

Walker knew there would be a moment like this. When he would have to withdraw from this case, too compromised to continue. When he’d have to reveal his deep connection to this part of the world. To admit that while he came down to these parts from London it’s not where he comes from.

He can sense Fielding watching from a little distance away. He knows he has some explaining to do. A lot of explaining to do, in fact. There’s a chance this could mean a disciplinary—worse. But he can’t worry about that now. Because most of all he needs to explain himself to the boy standing in front of him. He swallows.

“It’s me,” he says. “It’s Jake, your big brother. I’ve come back.”