“Sounds complicated.”

“Particularly as she worked for me under the Official Secrets Act.”

They disembarked, and as they walked toward the small terminal, Ferguson’s Daimler drew up and Dillon got out from behind the wheel. He leaned against the Daimler and lit a Marlboro. His face was curiously expressionless.

“Blake, Charles. Good flight? Thought I’d come myself.”

Ferguson said, “I’m damn sorry, Sean, damn sorry.”

“You’ll be sorry yourself when you hear my news. Get in and we’ll move out.”

They did, sitting in the rear while Dillon drove. “What have you got for me, then?” Ferguson asked.

“The last person to see Hannah alive was a Dublin girl, an agency nurse named Mary Killane. Maggie Duncan spoke to her when she finished her shift. Half an hour later, the alarm went off in Hannah’s room and she died in spite of the crash team.”

“What’s your point, Sean?” Ferguson was gentle.

“An hour and a half ago, a man walking his dog by the canal some ten minutes from Rosedene found a dead woman half-in, half-out of the water. Her handbag was still caught around one wrist. It was Mary Killane.”

“My God,” Blake said. “That’s a strange coincidence. And you know I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Especially with two bullets in her,” Dillon told him. “George Langley’s going to do the autopsy tonight. He’s at the scene of the crime now.”

They traveled in silence for a while, and it was Blake who said, “It smells to high heaven. Hannah dies, and then someone wastes the last nurse to deal with her.”

“And somehow a dead Belov is walking around in Siberia,” Ferguson said. “I’ve got an uneasy feeling they’re all related.”

“But like Billy said earlier,” Dillon told him, “if there’s one certainty in the matter, it’s that Belov is dead.”

“And what if he isn’t?” Blake put in.

“I know what I did.”

“Maybe something else happened, something you weren’t aware of.”