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Holland had barely paused for breath since they’d set off, clearly still trying to process the staggering turn of events.

‘The whole thing’s just incredible.’ He slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

‘It’s . . . sick . All that time we were racing around like twats, trying to work out why anyone would be helping Brightwell.

Why an individual we knew had to be close to the case, who was quite probably a copper himself, would be aiding and abetting someone who was targeting other coppers.

Fine, so these were not exactly good coppers, not all of them anyway, but Christ on a bike . . . even so.

‘I mean, it never made any sense. Why the hell would this person be passing key information to our prime suspect? Stuff about Tully and where to find him, then about Emily . . . all of it?’ He growled and stamped on the accelerator to take the car past a line of vehicles on the inside lane.

‘Banging our heads against a wall, and all the time it was the man in charge of the investigation screwing us all over . . . screwing everyone over and doing whatever he thought was necessary to save his own skin. To get rid of anyone who could implicate him, because he knew the game was up. Or that it might very well be, which meant he couldn’t take any chances.

‘Hiding in plain sight, while he as good as signed death warrants for the rapists he’d enabled and for those other poor bastards like Kazia Bobak and Catherine Holloway who’d done nothing .

. . and all the time he was drawing Brightwell in until he could do whatever it took to get rid of him, too.

He even made sure he’d be in there interviewing him, so he could find out exactly what Brightwell knew about where the information was coming from before having him killed.

’ He looked across at Thorne. ‘It’s fucking . . . unbelievable.’

Thorne wasn’t about to argue, but just nodded and turned away to stare out across the hard shoulder at the blur of fields rushing past. He was thinking, as he had been since they’d left, about the last time he’d made this same journey. Two days before on the way to Brigstocke’s birthday bash.

His conversation with Brigstocke’s wife.

‘Yeah, he’s definitely not himself.’

Now, Thorne understood exactly what Brigstocke had been so ‘stressed’ about, why developments in the case had appeared to affect him so adversely, and just how repugnant that self actually was.

‘You remember when you and Nic went to him?’ Holland looked at Thorne again. ‘When you decided the man we were after had to be a senior officer?’

Thorne nodded, remembering Brigstocke’s reaction, how crushed and disillusioned he’d been. Had appeared to be.

‘He told you he’d have to take it higher up, right?’ Holland shook his head, tightened his grip on the steering wheel. ‘Sounding like he was horrified, you know? Like he was on board with it all and ready to take steps, only because the sneaky fuck knew very well that you’d talk him out of it.’

Thorne recalled the DCI’s sorrowful expression that day and his heartfelt little speech about a ‘force he no longer recognised’.

It had all been for show, that was obvious now, but the sentiment was one Thorne could no longer take issue with and that was down to the activities of Brigstocke himself and others like him.

Though it was almost unthinkable that there were any others like him.

‘How’s this going to be for you?’ Holland asked.

Thorne looked at him.

‘Just . . . you know.’ Holland took a few moments, searching for the right way to voice his concern. He slowed at the turn off for Loughton, then put his foot down again.

‘What?’

‘I’m happy to be the one who makes the arrest,’ Holland said.

‘No.’

‘More than happy, actually.’

‘No need.’

‘If you’re going to find it . . . difficult.’

‘Why would I find it difficult?’

‘I don’t mean difficult .’ Holland shifted in his seat. ‘But you and him are friends, right?’

Thorne turned to look out of the window again. ‘ Were ,’ he said.

When the traffic began to snarl up around the town centre Holland hit the siren again, then switched it off when they were within a few streets of the one they were heading for.

Thorne didn’t question it, but couldn’t help thinking that Holland was being over-cautious.

Under normal circumstances, it was not a good idea to let your suspect know there were police approaching, but Thorne guessed that if Brigstocke was at home and already knew about the deal Michael Healey had struck with the DPS, he wouldn’t be surprised that someone was coming for him.

It would not be Thorne he was expecting, though.

Holland swore under his breath as he was forced to pull up hard at lights.

‘Relax, Dave,’ Thorne said. ‘He’ll be there or he won’t, so a few more minutes isn’t going to make any difference.’

Holland nodded and leaned back. He let out a long, slow breath then threw Thorne a glance as the lights began to change. He said, ‘I’m going to bloody love watching you nick him.’

As they pulled away, Thorne caught the car that was approaching from their right in his peripheral vision.

He turned just in time to see it jump the lights, to clock how fast it was coming.

Instinctively, he raised his arms to protect his head, but he did not even have the chance to cry out before the impact.

Before the deafening bang and the blackness.