‘Have you seen the Courant?’ King asked, waving his phone. ‘The murder’s mentioned there already, including who the victim is.’

‘Someone’s been blabbing,’ Christine Esson said.

‘It’s on Twitter, too,’ Ritchie added.

‘Not surprised,’ King said. ‘I mean, it’s got everything, hasn’t it?’

‘I don’t know, has it?’ Clarke retorted icily.

King began holding up his fingers in turn. ‘Cop turned abuser … police station with a reputation … victim related to tycoon experiencing messy and very public divorce …’ His voice tailed off as he saw the look Clarke was giving him.

‘We’re not here to entertain the public, Colin. Keep that at the front of your mind. Any journalists come sniffing – amateur or professional – you direct them to our media office.’

‘Got it,’ King said, reddening slightly.

‘Do the mugs need a wash?’ Ritchie blurted out, seeking an escape route.

‘Sink is in the gents’, end of the corridor,’ Esson instructed, Ritchie nodding as he scooped up the chipped and tarnished crockery.

When he was gone, Clarke focused on King. ‘Where are you usually based, Colin?’

‘St Leonard’s.’

‘And this isn’t your first MIT case?’

He shook his head, regaining some of his composure. ‘DCI Trask must have been satisfied last time round.’

‘You’ve worked with her before?’ Clarke tried not to sound too interested. ‘What’s she like?’

‘She’s brilliant.’

Clarke nodded in apparent agreement. ‘She’s been a DCI for a while?’

‘Five years, maybe a bit more.’ King looked from Clarke to Esson, wondering where this was going. Clarke knew Esson was probably thinking the same.

‘So is she stuck, do you think?’

‘Stuck?’

‘I mean, could she go further?’

‘Siobhan’s just playing with you,’ Esson said, digging a finger into King’s shoulder. ‘We’ll bring your tea over when it’s ready.’ He started walking back to his desk in obvious bemusement. Esson glowered at Clarke.

‘See, here’s the thing, Christine. Fox is already nice and cosy with her. If she wants further promotion, she needs the bosses on her side, and she knows who it is Fox ultimately reports to. Makes her more likely to listen to his theories and play by his version of events.’

‘It’s hour one of day one, Siobhan. You wanted to be here and here you are. What do you say we just try doing our job?’

Ritchie was coming back with the mugs. ‘Clean as I could get them,’ he apologised.

‘In which case, we’ll make do,’ Esson told him, her eyes never leaving Clarke’s.

King was approaching again, phone held out in front of him. ‘Latest from the Courant,’ he said.

Clarke took the phone from him, making sure Esson could see the screen. Most of it was filled with a grainy night-time photo, shot on a well-lit city street. She recognised Rob Driscoll, but not the man he was talking to.