Author's note: I have changed the name of the actual hotel because I have made it sound far less attractive than it is, and many will recognise it.

BARBARA

The train pulled into Scarborough just before three o'clock. Barbara was tired, and her side was beginning to ache. She took a free town map from the Tourist Information stand near the platform exit then looked for a coffee stall. There was one on the corner nearest the glass doors leading outside.

"Flat white please."

"Sure," the tall, stick-thin man behind the counter replied. Barbara studied him as he lifted a new tin of Fair Trade beans from the top shelf. He could easily have been a basketballer with his height and reach. Much taller than Tommy.

The aroma of freshly ground coffee made her feel better. "Thanks, and I'll have one of those cakes too please."

"Chocolate or lemon?"

"Ah, chocolate, please."

"Four pounds twenty. In town long?"

"I'm not sure. A week maybe."

"That's good. We get too many people visiting for only a day or two. Scarborough is the sort of place you need to stay a while so that life slows down."

Barbara gave a polite smile. She was not sure she needed life to go slowly. She wanted to wake up and feel normal, and back in control. "Yeah, thanks."

She sat near the wall and sipped her coffee. It was good; far better than the slop she often had when she and Tommy were on a case. "Bloody hell." She was trying to forget him, not have reminders in everything she did.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just kicked my toe on the table leg." Barbara did not need the attention of a bored barista.

She retrieved two painkillers from her bag and swallowed them with her coffee. The cake masked their bitter aftertaste. She might need to buy some chocolate or biscuits to keep in her room.

"Excuse me."

The barista looked up from a magazine he had spread on the counter and smiled. "Yes?"

"Is there a supermarket around here?"

"Yeah, a big Tesco next door. Out the exit, turn right, then right at the first street. Big brown brick building. You can't miss it."

"Thanks."

"I get off at five. If you're in town by yourself, I'd be happy to show you around. There's a great Indian restaurant by the harbour."

Barbara frowned. Was it that obvious that she was alone? It probably was, but the man had a nerve. She shook her head. "Thank you, that's very kind, but I don't think so."

The man shrugged. "Suit yourself. Come here to forget a man have you?"

"Why do you say that? Just because I am tired and don't fancy socialising with a stranger."

The man laughed. "I'm Tom. And we're not strangers. You already know I make a great coffee. And I know you savour your coffee. You don't drink it too fast so that you can't taste it. But you don't linger too long so that the bitterness overwhelms your palate. I can tell a lot about a woman by the way she drinks her coffee."

Tom? Bloody hell! Another reminder. "Well, Tom, can you also tell that I am not interested in dinner?"

"No, I can't. Part of you wants to, but whoever he is, you can't forget him that easily. I was only offering dinner. I know you will think it's a line, but I am very strict about not sleeping with someone on a first date. So you would be perfectly safe."

Barbara almost laughed. "I'm a policewoman."

"On duty?"

"No."

"Good. Then I am still not hearing a good reason to reject my invitation."

"I'm here to recover. I was stabbed recently in the line of duty. My partner..." Barbara took a deep breath. "He saved me. He's still in the hospital."

Tom's eyes widened. "Heavy."

"Yeah."

"Where were you stabbed?"

"Withcompton."

Tom grinned. "No, I mean where on your body."

"Oh, stomach."

"Can I see the scar?"

"No! This conversation has gone far enough. Now if you'll excuse me. I have recovering to do."

"Sure." He hastily scribbled something on his order pad then tore it off and held it out. "This is my number. If you change your mind, I am a good listener. I haven't always been a barista. I was a teacher, but there was an incident, and a pupil died. I... No, nothing like that. I can see you are a policewoman. No, he was a great kid. He stepped in front of a bus outside the school. He'd asked to see me earlier that day, but I was busy and fobbed him off. Every day I wonder whether he would still be alive if I had taken the time. So now I try to help people. I try to listen to them. The moment you walked in, I could tell you are weighed down by something. So, as I said, if you change your mind, I am here."

Barbara nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that. Thanks." She grabbed the paper and shoved it into her pocket. "Goodbye." She turned and walked away quickly.

"Hey," Tom called after her, "will you at least tell me your name?"

She stopped and turned. His smile was genuine. She thought briefly about giving him a false name. "Barbara."

"Great. See you later, Barbara."

TOMMY

After being asleep for a week, Tommy was more than mildly annoyed that he had trouble staying awake. After yawning so much that his mother finally left him to sleep, he closed his eyes. Almost immediately images of running, gunshots and knives jolted him awake. A sheen of sweat coated his skin as he remembered the tormented look in Williams' eyes. Whatever demons had prompted him to such violence had not died with him. Tommy shifted his weight on the bed, afraid that they were targeting him.

Tommy took a few deep breaths then tried reading, but it gave him a headache. He watched some television, but after flicking through several boring channels turned it off. Reception on the radio was too distorted for the subtleties of Schumann's Träumerei. More importantly, the haunting music, although a favourite, was depressing. It reminded him of his failings - in love, in marriage, in not being brave enough to tell Barbara he loved her until the moment he thought he might die. He ran his hand slowly through his hair.

Lynley looked anxiously at the clock. Four o'clock. He hoped Winston would arrive around six.

He found the button on his console that controlled the blinds. With the room in darkness, he closed his eyes and prayed for a peaceful snooze.

BARBARA

Keen to disguise her destination, Barbara had packed only one change of clothes. She had always intended to buy a few simple items here, and a large Tesco was a blessing. For less than £35 she purchased two packets of biscuits, some underwear, a pair of black jeans, two plain long-sleeve tee-shirts, a lightweight jumper, and some toiletries.

Her next concern was accommodation. Unwilling to search online at home in case she left a digital trail, Barbara had taken a punt that she would be able to find a room. Advertisements for hotels of different types and sizes filled the edges of the tourist map. Initially, she had thought a small, private hotel would be best, but as she wandered along the streets of the famous spa town towards the beach, she saw several large imposing hotels marked by subtle flags or ostentatious signs. It would be much easier to get lost inside a large hotel.

Many of the hotels she walked past were too modern. The advertisements on the map proudly presented rooms refurbished in shades of hotel-utilitarian beige. Barbara wanted a hotel with character. The Carrington Hotel was that, and more. An imposing twelve storeys, the tawny brick building dominated the rise above South Bay. Built in the mid-1800s during the rise of the middle class summer holiday tradition, the building still had charm, partially from its dominance of the landscape, but mostly from the white wrought iron balcony, the glass conservatory, and the quaint faux French decorations that suggested the hotel had once been a playground of wealthier clientele.

Barbara found the entrance under a blue neon sign that arched over a portico supported by over-sized marble columns. At the top of each pillar, stone carvings reminded her of the gargoyles around Westminster. The N stuttered and flashed. As she walked up the stairs towards to the heavy timber and glass doors, the high pitched staccato buzzing sounded like a horde of midges.

She stepped inside the hotel and looked around the imposing lobby. The first impression was one of grandeur. It was a hotel built to reign over the town. It was hard for her eyes to settle on any one feature. The features seemed crowded. Mismatched styles from renovations done to modernise the look had created noise. She looked up. Giant arches, this time buttressed by square ribbed columns painted in cream with cornflower bases and garish gold trim, extended the room to a second storey, but also seemed to close it in. The ceiling, high above her head, was the same blue, it's plastered beams thankfully trimmed only in cream. To the left, a massive staircase ascended at a shallow angle. Mahogany handrails atop ornately wrought-ironed balustrades were lost against the busy red and gold square pattern of the floor coverings. Glimpses of white marble at the rounded base of the bottom step peeked out from under the run of gaudy carpet. Once, the stairs and floor would have been marble, with a more discrete single run of carpet down the centre to soften the footfall of women in evening gowns descending gracefully on the way to a ball. Now though, the splendour seemed tawdry. A central marble fountain, filled with pebbles, had a coach light on top. Well-worn brown tub chairs crowded around the feature and clashed with the carpet. Young travellers lounged with their legs over the arms as they sat with their earphones on scrolling through screens on oversized phones.

Barbara sighed then made her way to Reception. "I was wondering if you might have a room."

The man behind the desk looked her up and down. "Certainly, ma'am. How many guests?"

"Just me."

"We have single rooms available. They are cheaper than the double rooms."

Barbara felt her face go red. "A single will be fine."

"We have interior Courtyard rooms at £32. They have no windows but are well ventilated. Then we have Standard rooms at £40 which have small windows overlooking the city, or Executive Singles at £48, which have sea views and come with free breakfasts."

Barbara did a quick calculation. She had budgeted £500 for her trip and had already spent nearly £100 on travel and clothing. "Executive room please, for three nights."

"Cash or card?"

"Cash."

"I'll still need a security deposit on your card."

"I don't have one," she lied. Using her card defeated all her efforts to hide. "I don't believe in them," she added to make it seem more plausible."

The man raised his eyebrows just a fraction before painting on an obsequious smile. "Then I will need payment in advance and an additional £50 deposit please."

Barbara opened her purse and handed him four £50 notes. "You can keep the extra £6 as security rather than look for change now."

"Thank you, ma'am. May I have your name?"

"Brown. Barbara Brown."

He put the money in the till then tapped furiously on his computer before handing her a keycard. "Thank you, Ms Brown. Room 825, on the eighth floor. There are lifts over there behind the timber panel. When you exit, turn the left. It's the last room on the right."

Barbara smiled politely. "Thank you for your help."

"Enjoy your stay."