They were escorted to one of the many incident rooms, and Kelly saw Emma glancing around, taking in the sheer vastness of the operation. In Penrith, Kelly’s office and one incident room, boasting some new chairs and a knackered old radiator, was the sum of Serious Crime for the Northern Lakes. Her colleague and friend DI Lockwood took care of the south.

She scanned the corridors and the desks through the glass walls to see if she could spot any old colleagues. She had no idea how she would react if she did. On the one hand, it would be wonderful to catch up with people with whom she’d shared countless lunches, office hours and after-work drinks. But on the other, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d look down on her because she’d run away to the provinces. She drew a deep breath and they entered the room.

She counted nine officers, and she knew that there’d be another nineteen in bed, ready to take up the reins in the morning. But at least the SIO was there, and they could get an up-to-date picture on how the investigation was progressing.

‘Boss,’ their escort said.

A man in dark trousers and a white shirt turned around and ran his hands through his hair. He had no tie on, and he looked as though he’d put in twenty-four hours straight already.

‘DI Kelly Porter, boss. Cumbria Constabulary.’

‘I know who our guests are, thank you. We’ve been expecting you, DI Porter.’

Kelly held out her hand. When their skin touched, it was like a thousand knives shot into her sticky palm and up to her shoulder. With an effort, she kept her grip firm as she stared into the eyes of DCI Matt Carter.

Whatever happened from here on in, it couldn’t get any worse.

Chapter 12

Tilly Knight parked around the corner from George’s address, as she knew full well that the main road was a nightmare for traffic. She’d never visited his home before, but she knew the area well. She gathered her notes and her bag from the passenger seat and got out. Perhaps he was ill, she thought.

She’d spent all morning in the library, researching Ravensword, the theories behind George’s calculations, and a few names that he had supplied her with during their only phone call. It was all good background, but she couldn’t help the nagging feeling that she was wasting her time. If he wasn’t home, and he didn’t answer her calls this afternoon, then she’d move on. He’d specifically asked her not to call him at Ravensword, and she’d honoured that, though she could always pretend to be somebody else: it went with the territory.