He crouched. ‘I mean, I can accept that the Establishment managed to convince everyone that it was a terrorist attack at the estate; that the world at large believes Kenneth Farmer and Cowie and Kiehl and Curtis and Boyd all died heroes trying to stop it. And I might not even have minded that you and Claire escaped, because after all, there will always be more men like you, whose services are available to the highest bidder; and there will always be more women like Claire, who view other people as playthings for their own pleasure. What I do mind about, however, is my dog.’He straightened, looking down the barrel of his Glock at Tremain writhing on the blood-soaked tiles.‘This,’ he said, ‘this is for Frankie.’On the road they said their goodbyes: Claridge going to his car, Lucy and Shelley going to theirs, all three satisfied that justice had been served.‘I heard about the City of London vault robbery,’ said Shelley. ‘Was that anything to do with you?’‘The one in which a safety deposit box belonging to Messrs Curtis and Boyd was stolen?’ smiled Claridge.
