62 Tresawle Road

62 Tresawle Road

"His name is Miles Lennox."

"Sounds like a serial killer to me."

"It's a perfectly fine name."

"For an axe murderer," said Gabriel.

"Hatchet, Mr. Allon. The Chopper uses a hatchet." Peel turned into Hillhead Road and streaked across darkened farmland toward

Falmouth. "And I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he didn't call us after his coins were stolen."

"There is," said Gabriel. "He didn't call you because he didn't want you to discover his collection of bloody hatchets."

"It makes a certain amount of sense, I have to admit. He also happens to fit our profile. Right age, right height and weight,

right marital status and occupation."

"Rare coin collector?"

"Lorry driver. He works for a beverage distributor."

"Which gives him a perfect excuse to drive around Cornwall and Devon looking for young women to kill."

"We're not there yet."

"We will be in about five minutes."

"More like three," said Peel as they reached the fringes of Falmouth. He worked his way eastward across town and rolled to

a stop outside a terraced house in Tresawle Road. It was two floors in height, with a gray pebble dash exterior. A light burned

behind the lace curtains of the sitting room window.

Peel switched off the engine. "I should probably call the boys from the Met. It's their case, after all."

"Probably," agreed Gabriel. "But it will do wonders for your career if you make the collar yourself."

"I need backup."

"Not for a routine burglary inquiry. Besides, you have backup."

"You?" Peel shook his head. "Not a chance, Mr. Allon."

Gabriel offered him the Beretta. "At least take this."

"Put that thing away."

Gabriel returned the weapon to the small of his back. "Slap the cuffs on him while you're introducing yourself. And whatever

you do, don't turn your back on him."

Peel climbed out of the car and headed up the garden walk. The door opened to reveal the very face of death. Peel displayed

his identification and after a moment's hesitation was granted permission to enter the premises. Gabriel heard nothing to

indicate there was a struggle within.

Finally, his phone rang. "You'd better be on your way, Mr. Allon. Things are about to get pretty busy around here."

Gabriel slipped out of the car and set off along the darkened street. He heard the first sirens as he rounded the corner into

Old Hill. Chiara called him a moment later.

"Mind telling me where you are?" she asked.

"Falmouth."

"Any particular reason?"

"Change of plan. And tell that daughter of ours not to worry," said Gabriel. "I took care of that little problem."