"He must have got down to work sharpish, old Ernest, for the baby to be produced in 1946."

"The bad news is, he died of a stroke two years later," Roper said. "The wound had been in the head."

"Poor sod," Tony said.

"The mother never remarried. According to her Social Security records, she continued as a cook until her late sixties. Died four years ago, aged eighty. Lung cancer."

"And Henry?"

"Worked as a driver of some sort, delivery vans, trucks, was a black-cab driver for years, then started being referred to as 'a chauffeur. ' Continued to live at the same address through all the years."

"Wife… family?"

"No evidence of a marriage."

"It sounds like a bad play, if you ask me," Tony said. "The old woman, widowed all those years, and the son-a right cozy couple, just like Norman Bates and his mum in the movie."

"Could be." Roper's fingers moved over the keys again. "So he's been in the private-hire business for twelve years. On the Ministry's approved list for the last six. Owned a first-class Amara limousine, approved by the Cabinet Office at Grade A level."

"Which explains somebody as important as the General getting him."

"And yet it just doesn't add up. How long have you been in the military police, Tony?"

"Seventeen years, you know that."

"Well, you don't need to be Sherlock Holmes… What's the most interesting thing here?"

"Yes, tell us, Sergeant." They both glanced around and found Ferguson leaning in the doorway.

"Aside from the cards, the nature of the targets," Doyle said. "Blake Johnson, Major Miller, and you, General-you've all worked together on some very rough cases in the past."

"I agree, which means, Major," Ferguson said to Roper, "we need to take a look at the various matters we've been involved in recently."

"As you say, General. I'm still intrigued by the religious element in the prayer cards, though, and the IRA element."