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there you have it,” he said, buoyed. “Majesty, surely this proves it.”
    The King remained unmoved. “Has this friar fellow been interrogated since?”
    “Sir, the man has been interrogated on several occasions,” Bridges began, “and every time the result has been the same. As I say, the man has been proven insane.”
    “Just because one is insane, does not mean one is a liar,” said West.
    “How exactly were they killed?” asked Heston.
    “Some form of remotely controlled explosive device,” West interrupted. “I’ve read the report. As I’m sure you’re aware, following the death of the Secretary of State for Justice, the responsibilities of the office now lie solely with me. And frankly, it is sadly my opinion that the JIC seems to be dragging its heels somewhat.”
    The King looked on, now slightly worried. He knew from his meeting with Dr Grant that the exact method of his father’s death was still to be proven.
    Despite confirmation of foul play.
    “How exactly were they murdered, Colin?”
    “From initial examination, it seems that some form of manually detonated explosive is the most plausible explanation.”
    The King nodded. “And you agree that this friar was the man responsible?”
    “There is no concrete evidence for that, sir.”
    “No evidence,” West said, dumbstruck. “The man has already confessed.”
    “We have the man’s word,” Bridges replied. “The word of a madman alone is not proof, nor is the word alone of a sane man.”
    “That’s quite true.” The King nodded, still pacing slowly across the carpet. Today, no one was sitting. “What else ties the killings to him?”
    “Only conjecture,” Bridges said.
    “Majesty, the case against Morris is watertight,” West said.
    “The case against Morris is strong,” Heston corrected.
    “Has he provided us with any further explanation as to why he carried out the killings?” the King asked.
    Bridges shook his head. “No, sir.”
    “How about his employers?”
    “He merely repeats the same words: Beware the Sons of York.”
    The King nodded.
    Nothing new.
    “What of his more recent history?”
    Bridges answered, “Morris left the merchant navy at the age of twenty-one and signed up with the RN until he was kicked out at age twenty-seven–”
    “On what grounds?” the King interrupted.
    “Dishonourable discharge.”
    “For hitting a superior,” West added.
    Bridges was unimpressed.
    “How about since then?” the King asked.
    “Nothing concrete. His navy record confirms his age is now thirty-four. He hasn’t given any details of his present life.”
    “What of his order?”
    “His personal keepsakes suggest he’s a Dominican. Initial inquiries into his mother house have come up fruitless.”
    The King nodded. “And what of his present location?”
    “The usual place.”
    “Which is?” asked West.
    “Sorry, Minister, I am not at liberty to say,” Bridges replied.
    The King turned his back on the three visitors and headed toward the window. Outside, a large number of tourists had gathered as they always did around the gate or the statues while others made their way toward St James’s Park.
    “Keep trying,” Heston said to Bridges. “Soften him up a bit. Perhaps he might feel like talking.”
    “I’ve already put five of my best men on him, Minister.”
    The King continued to look out across the grounds.
    “As, gentlemen, shall I.”

7
     
    Jen returned to her room after leaving the church. She had started the day in London before six and felt the worse for wear because of it.
    She lay on the bed, her eyes on the window. In the distance she could just about see the sun sinking slowly behind the distant hill. For several minutes she focused on it. The brightness of the sun shining on the perfect scenery somehow created the illusion of timelessness.
    It seemed impossible the village was the scene of such a heinous crime.
    She had spoken to her producer on returning to the room. She assumed the