Her heart rate increased and she felt the familiar pump of adrenalin flood her veins. Her life was so different now. Three years in the Lake District had softened her. Not that she’d lost her edge professionally, but her environment was no longer filled with testosterone junkies, dawn raids and stab vests. She’d had her fair share of danger in the Lakes, but that came with the job. If you apprehended bastards for a living, then some harm had to be expected. But in London, there was scum on every corner, on every street, in every office and behind every shadow. It was as if the city was a giant organism with an underbelly of seediness and crime, and the officers pursuing truth were constantly battling against it. Homicide detectives no longer worked alongside colleagues at local stations. Now, murder was a specialism, and they had their own headquarters. Three control centres ran the whole of London, regardless of which borough the crime was committed in. Scotland Yard was the mother ship, but pods existed around the city, usually in the areas where it was cheapest to rent large office complexes. The one they were making for was in Hendon.

The car stopped in front of a huge glass building with all the lights still burning. Murder wasn’t nine-to-five. Kelly read the sign outside, emblazoned with the Met’s badge: Middleton House. Specialist Crime and Operations Command. The size of the office block denoted how busy they were: death kept this whole premises in operation. A flutter of intimidation disturbed her, but she heard Johnny’s voice in her head, reassuring and supportive. Her internal dialogue pulled her this way and that, between failure and success. She looked sideways at Emma, who was transfixed.

‘Come on, we’re here,’ she said.

They thanked the driver and told him they hoped they wouldn’t be too late. He’d likely grab a coffee and catch up with colleagues as he waited to drive them to their hotel. He was on the night shift, so he had hours to kill.

Kelly gathered her briefcase, notes and various screens, leaving her personal items in the boot. Emma did the same. They both stretched, and straightened their clothes – they’d been sitting in the back of the car for almost five hours – before entering the building. Their ID was checked and their names entered on the system, then they were allowed through the glass barrier and upstairs to level five, where the SIO was expecting them. Kelly fiddled with her ponytail and her collar, trying not to look nervous in front of her junior. She hoped their welcome would be as smooth as possible, and that there would be no subtle one-upmanship from their elite colleagues. They were here to work on the same page.