We had survived the stop–go suburban roads and made it through the dark heart of Kingston’s one-way system but it had tested Derwent’s patience to the point of failure. He was on edge anyway, as he always seemed to be at the start of a case. I recognised it as fear of failure. In Derwent, that fear was sublimated into aggression. Most of his emotions were.‘At last.’ He drove through the gates and stopped. ‘Which way?’‘Left.’ I’d been saving one nugget of information. Now, I judged, was the right time to use it to take the edge off Derwent’s mood. ‘The GPS reference is near a place called Spankers Hill Wood.’Derwent’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Is it, indeed?’‘Could I make up something like that?’He laughed. ‘Spankers Hill. I wonder how it got that name.’‘And I wonder why Terence Hammond decided to stop nearby.’Derwent’s smile faded and he was silent for the next few minutes as I told him which of the winding roads to take, and watched for the small signposts that confirmed we were on the right track.
