Simon Kernick - Deadline

The question caught him off guard, as did the fact that she'd called him by his first name again in Mo's presence. Bolt had to consciously resist looking at him.

'No,' he said, shaking his head. 'As I say, these are just routine enquiries.'

As he spoke, he caught sight of an old framed photo of Emma on top of an antique chest of drawers in the corner next to the French windows – a smiling child's face staring at him from an odd angle. For a second he couldn't drag his gaze away, and he felt a bead of sweat run down his temple.

Andrea stood up. 'Well, if you haven't got any other questions, I'd like to lie down for a while.'

He nodded. 'Of course. Matt and Marie will stay here with you.'

She left the room, and Bolt wiped the bead of sweat from his brow. It had been a long day, and he knew that tomorrow was going to be an even longer one. There wasn't much more they could do, so, having instructed Turner and Marie to keep a close eye on Andrea, and promising Turner that he'd be relieved later, he and Mo said their goodbyes and went outside.

Bolt felt a surge of relief to be away from the pictures of Emma. It was torture looking at them.

'I still get the feeling Mrs Devern's not telling us everything,' said Mo as they walked back to the car.

'Shit, Mo,' Bolt snapped, 'her daughter's missing. She's going to tell us everything she can to get her back, isn't she?'

He stopped by the car and took a deep breath, surprised by the anger in his tone. Mo looked taken aback.

Bolt sighed. 'Sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that. It's just, you know… I don't think she's going to be holding anything back.'

They got into the car in silence. Bolt took another deep breath. The pressure was getting to him. The knowledge that he might lose the only child he'd ever had, and before he'd even met her, was affecting every step he took, and he was beginning to doubt his ability to handle it.

'What is it, boss? What's wrong with you?'

Bolt avoided Mo's concerned gaze. 'Nothing. I'm fine.' It was his stock response, and it sounded utterly hollow. He couldn't even bring himself to instil any meaning into it.

'No, you're not. This isn't like you. I've worked with you, how long now? Four years, five? You never let things get to you. Not like this. You care, but not so much it brings you right down. And you're down now. You haven't been right all day.'

There was a long pause. Bolt sat there with the key in his hand, inches from the ignition, unmoving.

'Come on, tell me,' said Mo eventually, his voice quiet. 'We've shared things in the past.'

'I know.'

'Important things. Things that no one else knows.'

'I know.'

'So, talk to me now.'

In that moment, Bolt knew that the dam had to give, whatever the consequences. He put the key in the ignition but made no move to start the car.

'I had an affair with Andrea Devern fifteen years ago.'

'I thought there was something between the two of you. Back at the house-'

'There's more.'

Mo didn't say anything for a moment, then it seemed to click.

'Oh shit, boss. You're not saying that… that Emma's something to do with you?'

'It looks that way.'

He told Mo what Andrea had told him earlier.

'How do you know Mrs Devern, Andrea, isn't bullshitting you?' Mo asked when Bolt had finished. 'Especially as that's exactly what she told Jimmy Galante as well.'

Bolt sighed. 'I don't know, Mo, but the dates fit. I checked them.'

'But she was seeing Galante at the same time, right?'

'That's right. And she was married too.'

'Well, she certainly got around,' Mo said, a hint of disapproval in his voice.

'I don't know what to do. It's ripping me to shreds.'

'Chances are she isn't yours, boss. That's the way you've got to look at it. No offence, but if she was married, seeing another man, and seeing you, it's likely there were others as well.'

'But if it's true…'

'If it's true…' Mo paused, thinking. Choosing his words carefully. 'Then we've got to make sure we bring her back.'

Bolt ran a hand across his face, the fingers finding the scars on his left cheek. He rubbed hard at the shallow divots in his flesh.

'You saw what those bastards did to Galante. They're not going to let her go, are they?'

'You've got to have faith, boss.'

'Faith in what, Mo? Faith in what?'

'If you haven't got faith in God, and I know that you haven't, then at least have faith in our abilities. We've got out of tight corners before.'

'It's a lot easier said than done, Mo. It really is.'

'I know.'

'Do you?'

'I've got four children, boss. Believe me, I know.'

They were silent again. Bolt felt the tension flowing through his veins, tightening every muscle in his body.

'You know,' said Mo eventually, staring out of the window, 'there's a village in India, somewhere along the Ganges, where they consider cobras sacred. It means they're not allowed to harm them, and because of that, the whole village is teeming with them. In schools; in people's kitchens; in kids' bedrooms; all over the place. But no one takes a blind bit of notice because they're convinced they're not going to get bitten. And, you know, even when one of the villagers is bitten, they think it's a mistake on the cobra's part, and that the poison won't have any long-lasting effect because they worship it. Now, cobra venom can kill if it's not treated. That's a medical fact. But do you know what? In that village there's not one recorded incident of anyone dying of a snake bite. Like I said, boss, you've got to have faith. It'll be OK.'

They looked at each other, and Bolt was impressed by the determination in the other man's expression. It made him feel a little better, glad that he had shared his feelings. He was also surprised by the fact that Mo hadn't suggested he say something to Barry Freud. Mo was his friend, but he was also a professional, and he would know that he was taking a risk by keeping his boss's relationship with both the kidnap victim and her mother silent.

'Not a word about this, OK?' Bolt told him. 'It won't affect how I run this op, I promise.'

Mo nodded. 'OK, boss, but only as long as it doesn't. If it looks like the pressure's getting too much…'

'It won't. I promise.'

'But if it does, I'm going to have to say something. You understand that, don't you?'

'Yeah, I understand that.'

Bolt started to turn the key in the ignition, but Mo's next words stopped him dead.

'You were in the Flying Squad when you were seeing Andrea, weren't you?'

Although there was nothing accusatory in the tone, the meaning was clear. The Flying Squad dealt with armed robberies. The woman Bolt had been having an affair with was also sleeping with an armed robber. The potential for corruption was obvious, and it wasn't as if the Flying Squad hadn't had its fair share of corruption problems in the past. Bolt wasn't offended, but it hurt him that his friend had felt the need to ask the question.

'As soon as I found out she was seeing Galante, I finished it,' he said firmly.

'Good. That's all I wanted to know.'

There was another awkward silence. Bolt had crossed the line with Mo once before, two years earlier, and the implicit trust that had always existed between them had come under a lot of strain. It felt like something similar was happening again.

'Come on,' he said, starting the engine, 'let's go.'

Home for Mike Bolt was a spacious studio apartment on the third floor of a converted warehouse in Clerkenwell, one of the quietest places in central London, and not far from where he'd first been based as a uniformed cop. He'd been there for four years now, having moved in the year after his wife's death, and ordinarily he'd never have been able to afford a place one quarter of the size on his SOCA salary, but the rent he paid was minimal. The reason for this was that it belonged to a wealthy Ukrainian businessman, Ivan Stanevic, whom Bolt had helped out years before in his National Crime Squad days.