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A LARGE MAGNOLIA TREE STOOD in the front garden of Lucy’s house in Bro it would cover the front lawn in what looked like crumpled tissues; now, in April, it was a frothy cloud of white, its petals waxy as coconut shavings Strike had only visited this house a few times, because he preferred to meet Lucy away from her home, where she always seemed most harried, and to avoid encounters with his brother-in-law, for whos were on the cooler side of tepid

Heliuht breeze As Strike walked down the steeply sloping front path to the door, the package Robin had wrapped under his arm, he told himself that it would soon be over

“Where’s Charlotte?” demanded Lucy, short, blonde and round-faced, i the front door

More big golden foil balloons, this time in the shape of the nuht have denoted exciteion of the house, disturbing the suburban peace

“She had to go back to Ayr for the weekend,” lied Strike

“Why?” asked Lucy, standing back to let him in

“Another crisis with her sister Where’s Jack?”

“They’re all through here Thank God it’s stopped raining, or we’d have had to have thearden

They found his three nephews tearing around the large back laith twenty assorted boys and girls in party clothes, ere shrieking their way through so to various cricket stumps on which pictures of pieces of fruit had been taped Parent helpers stood around in the weak sunlight, drinking wine out of plastic cups, while Lucy’s husband, Greg,in a dock on a trestle table Lucy handed Strike a lager, then dashed away froest of her three sons, who had fallen hard and was bawling with gusto

Strike had never wanted children; it was one of the things on which he and Charlotte had always agreed, and it had been one of the reasons other relationships over the years had foundered Lucy deplored his attitude, and the reasons he gave for it; she was always miffed when he stated life ai her decisions and choices

“All right, there, Cor, who had handed over the control of the music to another father Strike’s brother-in-laas a quantity surveyor, who never seemed quite sure what tone to take with Strike, and usually settled for a coression that Strike found irksoain, have you? Ha ha ha I can’t keep track”

One of the little girls had been pushed over: Greg hurried off to help one of the other ame roared on in chaos At last, a winner was declared; there were more tears from the runner-up, who had to be placated with a consolation prize froeas A second round of the saame was then announced

“Hi there!” said aup to Strike “You must be Lucy’s brother!”

“Yeah,” he said

“We heard all about your poor leg,” she said, staring down at his shoes “Lucy kept us all posted Gosh, you wouldn’t even knoould you? I couldn’t even see you li what they can do these days? I expect you can run faster now than you could before!”

Perhaps she ile carbon-fiber prosthetic blade under his trousers, like a Paralyer, and forced a humorless smile

“Is it true?” she asked, ogling him, her face suddenly full of naked curiosity “Are you really Jonny Rokeby’s son?”

Some thread of patience, which Strike had not realized was strained to breaking point, snapped

“Fucked if I know,” he said “Why don’t you call him and ask?”

She looked stunned After a few seconds, she walked away frolanced towards Strike Another child fell over, crashing its head on to the cricket stu an ear-splitting shriek With all attention focused on the fresh casualty, Strike slipped back inside the house

The front rooe three-piece suite, an Iraphs of his three nephews in their bottle-green school uniform displayed on shelves Strike closed the door carefully on the noise froarden, took from his pocket the DVD Wardle had sent, inserted it into the player and turned on the TV

There was a photograph on top of the set, taken at Lucy’s thirtieth birthday party Lucy’s father, Rick, was there with his second wife Strike stood at the back, where he had been placed in every group photograph since he was five years old He had been in possession of two legs then Tracey, fellow SIB officer and the girl who next to him Tracey had subsequently iven birth to a daughter Strike had ot round to it

He dropped his gaze to the screen, and pressed “play”

The grainy black-and-white footage began i past the eye of the camera The 180° vieed the intersection of Bellamy and Alderbrook Roads

A ht side of the screen; tall, his hands deep in his pockets, swathed in layers, a hood over his head His face looked strange in the black-and-white footage; it tricked the eye; Strike thought that he was looking at a stark white lower face and a dark blindfold, before reason told hi at a dark upper face, and a white scarf tied over the nose, mouth and chin There was soo, on his jacket; otherwise his clothing was unidentifiable

As the walker approached the ca he drew out of his pocket Seconds later, he turned up Bellaital clock in the lower right-hand portion of the screen registered 01:39

The filain was the blurred view of the same intersection, apparently deserted, the sa the view, but now the clock in the lower corner read 02:12

The two runners burst into view The one in front was recognizable as the e with his white scarf over his , straight back down Alderbrook Road The second hter, hooded and hatted; Strike noticed the dark fists, clenched as he pelted along behind the first, losing ground to the taller n on the back of his sweatshirt was briefly illu Alderbrook Road he veered suddenly left and up a side street

Strike replayed the few seconds’ footage again, and then again He saw no sign of con that they had called to each other, or even looked for each other, as they sprinted away from the camera It seemed to have been every man for himself

He replayed the footage for a fourth time, and froze it, after several atten on the back of the slowerat the screen, he edged closer to the blurry picture After a , he was almost sure that the first word ended in “ck,” but the second, which he thought began with a “J,” was indecipherable

He pressed “play” and let the fil to make out which street the second man had taken Three times Strike watched hih its name was unreadable onscreen, he knew, from what Wardle had said, that it must be Halliwell Street

The police had thought that the fact that the first man had picked up a friend off-camera di that the tere, in

deed, friends Strike had to concede that the fact that they had been caught on fil in an alested complicity

Allowing the footage to run on, he watched as it cut, in alot on; filmed from a position above the driver, her face was foreshortened and heavily shadowed, though her blonde ponytail was distinctive The man who followed her on to the bus bore, as far as it was possible to see, a strong resemblance to the one who had later walked up Bellaern Gardens He was tall and hooded, with a white scarf over his face, the upper part lost in shadow All that was clear was the logo on his chest, a stylized GS

The fil fast along it was the saot on the bus, he had rely re a conscious effort to keep his head bowed

The fil at it, deep in thought When he recalled hiht surprise to find them multicolored and sunlit

He took his mobile out of his pocket and called John Bristow, but reached only voice Bristow that he had noed the CCTV footage and read the police file; that there were a few s he would like to ask, and would it be possible toweek

He then called Derrick Wilson, whose telephone likeent to voicemail, to which he reiterated his request to coern Gardens

Strike had just hung up when the sitting-room door opened, and his middle nephew, Jack, sidled in He looked flushed and overwrought

“I heard you talking,” Jack said He closed the door just as carefully as his uncle had done

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the garden, Jack?”

“I’ve been for a pee,” said his nephew “Uncle Cor me a present?”

Strike, who had not relinquished the wrapped parcel since arriving, handed it over and watched as Robin’s careful handias destroyed by sers

“Cool,” said Jack happily “A soldier”

“That’s right,” said Strike

“He’s got a gun an’ dev’rything”

“Yeah, he has”

“Did you have a gun when you were a soldier?” asked Jack, turning over the box to look at the picture of its contents

“I had two,” said Strike

“Have you still got them?”

“No, I had to give them back”

“Shame,” said Jack, matter-of-factly

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?” asked Strike, as renewed shrieks erupted froarden

“I don’t wanna,” said Jack “Can I take him out?”