‘Don’t touch anything,’ Hawkins ordered, moving past him to look out of the right-hand window.

She discovered a decent view of Cavendish Square Gardens, an ironically circular patch of green amid the capricious London traffic. Leafless trees permitted an unimpeded view across the area, grass wedges broken by intersecting pathways, a horse-mounted statue high on a plinth in the centre, sculptural works of modern art dotting the outer rim. A brass band under a blinking, light-encrusted pavilion, playing silently to a small, unseated audience.

A squawk pulled her back into the room, and she glanced around to see Chris desperately trying to steady the pizza cutter on its stand. She started forwards just as he grabbed the edge of the blade, managing to right the artefact.

‘Jesus.’ He looked up, immediately shrinking under Hawkins’ glare, and stuck his thumb in his mouth. ‘That’s bloody sharp.’

‘Serves you right.’ She checked that the door was still closed before turning back to the window, watching a female rider bump across the pavement and add her scooter to the chain of bikes parked on the garden’s perimeter.

She watched the woman for a moment, until she noticed the man standing a few feet away, dressed in baggy tracksuit bottoms, tall, military-style boots, and a dark grey parka. He was standing stock-still.

Staring up at her.

She stared back, trying to work out whether he could see her through the rain-spattered glass, and whether she recognized him. Achieving neither.

Her attention was drawn as she heard the office door open, and she looked around to see White enter the room, portentously empty-handed.

‘My apologies, Detective.’ He came towards her. ‘I’m afraid I can’t get hold of our custodian, and I’m not familiar enough with the computer system to extract the information myself. Can I forward the details regarding Mr Baker once I’ve had a chance to retrieve them?’

‘No problem.’ Hawkins found a card and handed it to him. ‘As soon as you can, though.’

White smiled. ‘Of course. Was there anything else?’

‘Actually, yes. What sort of response does your organization receive from the public?’

He thought for a moment. ‘They tend to ignore us.’

‘What about from other groups like yours?’

‘We communicate from time to time, where common cause permits. Otherwise our paths rarely cross.’

‘What happens when they do?’

‘Cross?’ He hesitated, as if the conversation had strayed into uncomfortable territory. ‘There are disputes, of course, as always when theories digress.’

‘And where do these disputes lead?’

His gaze flicked from her to Chris and back. ‘Are you implying something?’

‘No. I’m just trying to work out why someone might stand outside on the street, staring up at your office.’

White’s frown deepened. ‘To be honest, Inspector, most people don’t care what we do. We have to work hard for our members’ attention, let alone that of others.’