'Mum never let me climb trees,' said Liam.
'She was scared about you falling, that's all.'
'But I won't fall,' he said.
'I know,' said Shepherd.
'Will we live in the same house?'
'I don't know.'
'I don't want to live anywhere else,' said Liam firmly.
'You can stay with Gran for a bit, though, can't you?'
'Do I have to?'
'It'd be a help for me. There are some things I have to do.'
Liam nodded seriously. 'But when you've finished, we can live at home, right?'
'Sure.'
'Can I sleep in the big bed?'
'Of course you can.'
As Shepherd walked back along the road to the house with his son, he saw the blue Vauxhall Vectra parked at the end of the driveway. Jimmy Sharpe climbed out of the back and waited, his hands in his overcoat pockets.
'Who is that man, Daddy?' asked Liam.
'A friend,' said Shepherd, putting his hand on his son's shoulder.
'He looks like a policeman,' said Liam.
Shepherd smiled. Sharpe had spent a good ten years working undercover and would have been most put out to learn that he'd been rumbled by a seven-year-old. 'Why do you say that?' he asked.
Liam looked up at him. 'He's got cold eyes. Like you.'
His son's words cut Shepherd to the core. Was that how his son saw him? A policeman with cold eyes? 'He's a good guy,' said Shepherd. 'His name's Jimmy Sharpe.'
'Sharp like a knife?'
'Yeah, but with an extra
'Are you going to go with them?'
'I think so. Yes.'
'Okay.'
'But we'll have lunch first. Your gran's doing fish fingers. Your favourite, right?'
Liam shrugged but didn't say anything.
When they reached the Vectra, Sharpe nodded at Shepherd. 'Hargrove wants a word,' he said.
Shepherd patted his son's head. 'Go and tell your gran I'm on my way,' he said.
As Liam ran up the driveway to the house, Sharpe tapped out a number on his mobile phone and handed it to Shepherd. Hargrove answered within a couple of rings. 'Have you decided what you're going to do?' he asked Shepherd. He sounded tired.
Shepherd looked at Sharpe. Sharpe looked back at him. Shepherd turned to the house. Liam was standing at the front door, watching him, still holding the football. Moira was behind him. 'I'm going back,' said Shepherd.
'Thank you, Spider,' said the superintendent. 'I know you're doing the right thing.'
'Just make sure there are no screw-ups on the outside.'
Hargrove thanked him again and Shepherd handed the phone to Sharpe. 'I'm going to have lunch, then we'll head back,' said Shepherd. 'I can't ask you in. The mother-in-law's a bit anti-police at the moment.'
'That's okay,' said Sharpe. 'Tim's got more M and S sandwiches. And another bottle of Jameson's. We'll be fine.'
'Liam's going to stay with my in-laws in Hereford. Look in on him now and again, will you?'
'It'll be a pleasure.'
'You know there could be a few bad apples we don't know about?'
'Carpenter's a shit-stirrer, that's for sure. With enough money to stir a whole lot of shit.'
'Have you got a pen?'
Sharpe gave him a ballpoint and a small notebook. Shepherd wrote down a telephone number and a name. 'This guy's SAS,' he said. 'Any hint that there's a problem, call him and explain the situation.'
Sharpe slipped the notebook and pen into his overcoat pocket.
When Shepherd walked into the house Moira was placing food on the table. Fish fingers, chips and frozen peas. Shepherd had barely any appetite and Liam only played with his food. They made small-talk as they ate, but Shepherd was already back in prison, entering the end game. He forced himself to chew, swallow and nod as Moira talked about the work that needing doing in the garden in Hereford, how peas never tasted as good as they used to, and how she hoped her husband had remembered to unload the washing-machine.
When they'd finished, Shepherd hugged Liam and kissed him. 'Be good for your gran,' he said.
Liam said nothing. There were no tears, no recriminations, no pleading for him to stay. He just looked at his father blankly.
'I won't be away for long,' Shepherd promised.
'I want to play with my PlayStation,' said Liam, looking away so that he didn't have to meet his father's eyes.
'Okay,' said Shepherd.
The child walked out of the kitchen, his hands limp by his sides.
'He'll be all right,' said Moira.
Shepherd nodded slowly. All it would take was one phone call to Hargrove and he'd be out, able to spend as much time as he wanted to with his son. One phone call. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
'You've made your decision,' said Moira, softly. 'Don't make it worse by hesitating now.'
It was only with his eyes closed that Shepherd realised how alike Moira and Sue sounded. He wanted to freeze time, to hold the moment, because standing in the kitchen with the sound of Moira's voice, it was as if none of the bad things had happened, as if Sue was still with him, about to nag him to do the dishes and, afterwards, lie with him on the sofa watching a movie on television, falling asleep in each other's arms.
'Daniel . . .' said Moira.
Shepherd opened his eyes and the spell was broken. He pecked Moira on the check, then rushed out of the house. He hurried over to the Vectra and climbed into the back. 'Drive,' he said to Rosser. 'Just get me away from here before I change my mind.'
Hamilton escorted Shepherd from the reception area back to the remand block, swinging his keys like an aeroplane propeller. 'Word is that you shot a little old lady,' he said.
'A case of mistaken identity,' said Shepherd. 'Sorry to burst your bubble.'
'No skin off my nose,' said Hamilton. 'The Gatwick robbery's going to mean you doing a twelve-stretch, minimum.'
'You do understand how the British trial system works, don't you, Hamilton?' said Shepherd. 'Innocent until judged guilty by my peers.'
'That's the theory, Macdonald. But I can count the number of innocent men in here on the fingers of one hand.'
Hamilton unlockedthe gate to the remandblock and ushered Shepherd through. Lloyd-Davies was in the bubble and she smiled when she saw Shepherd. 'I was worried that the Jocks might not let you back, Macdonald,' she said.
'Mistaken identity, apparently,' said Hamilton.
'Just in time for tea,' said Lloyd-Davies.
Shepherd was about to say he wasn't hungry, but that would have been a mistake: as far as the prison staff were concerned, he'd been in the custody of cops who wouldn't have given him much in the way of food and drink. Not when he had been involved in the shooting of one of their own. 'Thanks, ma'am,' he said.
Hamilton unlocked the door to the spur and Shepherd walked through. It was association time. Down on the ones four prisoners were playing pool, and there was a card game going on. Shepherd stood at the stairs, looking for Carpenter. No sign of him. He walked back to the bubble and asked to have Jimmy Sharpe's name and telephone number on his approved list.
