Not paperwork after all, not the chance to borrow one of my floaters. Quigley had come in to work on a Saturday morning because God forbid he should miss the moment when I went arse over tip. I said, “I wanted to make your day, old son. Looks like I succeeded.”

“You always took me for a fool. Let’s all take the piss out of Quigley, the great thick eejit, sure he won’t even notice. Go on and tell me: if you’re the hero and I’m the fool, then how come you’re the one that’s deep in the shit, and I’m the one that saw it coming all along?”

He was wrong. I had never underestimated him. I had always known about Quigley’s one skill: his hyena nose, the instinct that pulls him snuffling and salivating towards shaky suspects, frightened witnesses, wobbly-legged newbies, anything that flashes soft spots or smells of blood. Where I had gone wrong was in believing that didn’t mean me. All those years of endless excruciating therapy sessions, of staying vigilant over every move and word and thought; I had been sure I was mended, all the breaks healed, all the blood washed away. I knew I had earned my way to safety. I had believed, beyond any doubt, that that meant I was safe.

The moment I said Broken Harbor to O’Kelly, every faded scar in my mind had lit up like a beacon. I had walked the glittering lines of those scars, obedient as a farm animal, from that moment straight to this one. I had moved through this case shining like Conor Brennan had shone on that dark road, a blazing signal for predators and scavengers far and wide.

I said, “You’re not a fool, Quigley. You’re a disgrace. I could fuck up every hour on the hour, from now till I retire, and still be a better cop than you’ll ever be. I’m ashamed to be on the same squad as you.”

“You’re in luck, then, aren’t you? You might not have to put up with me much longer. Not once the Super sees this.”

I said, “I’ll take it from here.”

I held out a hand for the bag, but Quigley whipped it out of reach. He prissed up his mouth and deliberated, swinging the bag between finger and thumb. “I’m not sure I can give you this, now. How do I know where it’ll end up?”

When I got my breath back, I said, “You make me sick.”

Quigley’s face curdled, but he saw something in mine that shut him up. He dropped the bag into my hand like it was filthy. “I’ll be submitting a full report,” he informed me. “As soon as possible.”

I said, “You do that. Just stay out of my way.” I shoved the evidence bag into my pocket and left him there.

*

I went up to the top floor, shut myself in a cubicle in the gents’ and leaned my forehead against the clammy plastic of the door. My mind had turned slippery and treacherous as black ice, I couldn’t get purchase; every thought seemed to send me lurching through into freezing water, grabbing for solid ground and finding nothing. When my hands finally stopped shaking, I opened the door and went downstairs to the incident room.