The days continued to roll by, a never ending routine of meals, laundry, exercise hour and garden work. So far, Morse had had no contact or visitors to break the monotony, but Brown had managed to commandeer Morse and himself more time in the social room. Morse had soon learned that Brown had earned the attention of a sympathetic warden he knew from school, and he reliably informed Morse that an unknown high ranking official had put a block on Morse – anyone caught trying to communicate with him would be arrested for conspiracy.

It was therefore something of a surprise when Morse found a piece of paper slipped under his pillow one day. He opened it, heart racing. The note was short and to the point; there was no signature but Morse didn't need one to recognise Jakes' spidery slant.

Trust me

And for once, Morse did trust Jakes. He knew Jakes cared for Thursday just as much as he did, and since returning from Witney, he and Jakes had slotted into an unlikely camaraderie. He knew Jakes would pursue the case to the ends of the earth if necessary, and he knew that he had contacts, favours he could call in. He imagined Frazil finding her way to Jakes, digging- no wait; he couldn't allow himself to hope too big. Just Jakes and Bright. Maybe Strange, if he could be convinced to testify about Deare's orders. Morse had tried not to think about Strange too much – he found himself balling his fists up, with the desire to punch something. If only the idiot had just sent someone, even one car, at the very least, he would be sitting at Thursday's bedside with his family, a free man. Morse froze, as a haunting memory of Thursday's voice slipped through – "The If game's no good to any bugger." That seemed like a lifetime ago now; Morse thought the corruption had left with Crisp and Lott.

To pass the time, Morse had thrown himself into the Brown case. Through questioning Mike, Morse had established that his wife, Verity, was most likely having an affair. On the night of her death, Brown had given her an ultimatum – choose her bed, then lie in it. The lawyers had alleged that at this point, an enraged Brown had hit her in the heat of the moment, panicked then hidden the body. Morse, however, believed Browns testimony that he had watched his wife leave to go for a walk, and then gone out to his shed to do some work. He deduced that the fancy man was most likely the mechanic who had fixed her car, then kept calling her into the garage for small adjustments then check-ups. Morse wholly believed that Mrs Brown had gone to meet him to finish things, and that the man had lost his temper and committed the deed, planting the weapon at a later date. He promised Brown that when he got out, he would initiate a case review.

Brown had looked at Morse, long and hard.

"Thanks mate. But there's no one gets out of here. Never."

Three weeks into his prison stretch, Morse went into his cell one day to find another letter under his pillow. This one was different, a long thick letter in an envelope, with a slightly sweet fragrance. The paper had small blotches where the ink, was smudged and if Morse had been paying attention he would have recognised them as thick, heavy tears.

Darling Morse,

I'm really sorry it had to be like this, but they won't let me in to see you. I tried to come, but they said I would be arrested. I can't believe any of this is real; the world has turned upside down. We all know it wasn't you, but no one will listen to us.

I'm so sorry to have to tell you, but my darling Fred passed away that night. We were all at his bedside, Sam, Joan and I. He fought so hard, but his heart just couldn't cope with the bullet wound. At least he didn't suffer too much, it was peaceful.

He led a long and happy life, and he died a hero, fighting for truth and justice right to his last minute. He died knowing that he still had loyalty from his men, and that means more than words can describe.

I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. You were the only one there for Fred; you went to his aid when he needed you most. If I know my Fred, he would have offered you the chance to leave, so you must have chosen to stay. Thank you for staying with him, until the end.

We're going to fix this Morse, I promise. It doesn't end like this. Sam and Joan send you their love, and we hope to be able to see you some day, when all of this is over.

All my love and best wishes,

Win xx

After the second paragraph, Morse had gone numb. He couldn't believe what he was reading. His hand started shaking, and the letter fell out of his hand onto the bed. As his brain caught up with his eyes, Morse let out a strangled, grief stricken cry. As he fell to the floor, he felt the waves of pain he had been suppressing lap higher and higher, until they were crashing over his head. All life, purpose and meaning was lost. The hope he had been holding onto was crushed under the weight of the letter.

Thursday was dead.