“No, damn you, though that’s been taken care of.” She frowned. “What a terrible thing to say. How could I?” She reached out her thin left hand, which he took, and she gripped his hand with surprising strength. “You’re a good man, Sean, a good man in spite of yourself. I’ve always known that.”

The grip slackened, and Dillon, almost choking with emotion, let her hand go gently. The eyes closed, and when she spoke again her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Night bless, Sean.”

Dillon made it out to the corridor, where he leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. A young nurse pushing a trolley approached and paused at the door, glancing at him with a frown. She was pretty enough, high cheekbones, dark eyes.

“Are you all right?”

Her accent was Dublin Irish. He nodded. “I’m fine. What are you doing?”

“Seeing to the Superintendent’s medication.”

“I think she’s gone to sleep again.”

“Ah, then it can wait.”

She pushed the trolley away. He paused, watching her go, then made for reception, ignoring Maggie Duncan’s call from behind, went down the entrance steps to the car park and headed for the Mini Cooper.

Roper, having fruitlessly tried some obvious routes through the computer, sat back frustrated. Of course, the real problem was that he didn’t really know what he was looking for, but one thing was certain. There was something wrong here. What was it Blake had said? It was as if it had never happened. But it had.

“Time to get back to basics,” he said softly, and called Dillon on his Codex Four. “Where are you?”

“I was with Hannah at Rosedene. I’ve just parked outside Saint Paul’s.”

“Visiting the Holy Mother again, are we? How was Hannah?”

“Hanging in there.”

“Good. I’ve had a call from Ferguson. Cazalet wants answers on the whole Belov thing. He’s sent Blake Johnson over to help, but it’s up to us, and Ferguson wants an explanation. I’m going round to see the Salters at the Dark Man, so meet me there.”