‘Dr Tony Hill.’ Fielding stood up. ‘Thanks for coming in with this, Dr Myers. And now that we’ve got a viable suspect, you know what we’re looking for from the Bev McAndrew evidence, right?’

Dave looked outraged. ‘You’ll get what’s there. Nothing more, nothing less.’

‘That’s all I want. But where there’s room for doubt, I expect your team to drop on the right side of the fence, Dr Myers. In times of financial constraints, we have to be sure we’re getting the best value in our forensic services, after all.’

Dave looked murderous as he gathered his papers together. ‘I’ll email you a full report.’ He gave Paula a pained look as he turned for the door.

Paula waited till she heard the snick of the catch close behind him. ‘There’s got to be a mistake,’ she said. ‘Nobody who knows Tony could imagine for a moment he could kill. And certainly not like this.’

‘Are you sure about that? Don’t they say the best profilers are the other side of the coin from the people they hunt?’

‘Only people who like to come up with lazy sound bites.’ Angry now, Paula didn’t much care whether she pissed off her boss. Getting her to see sense about Tony was more important. ‘Tony Hill has dedicated his working life to preventing this kind of crime. He’s about redemption and rehabilitation, not killing women.’

‘McIntyre, sit down.’ Fielding’s voice was firm but not hostile. Paula hadn’t even realised she was standing. ‘Put your personal feelings to one side and look at the evidence. His blood is on Nadia Wilkowa’s jacket. He limps with his left leg. He knows how to leave a body forensically clean. And the victims, Sergeant. The victims. They both look like DCI Jordan. Who, if I’m not mistaken, has shaken the dust of Tony Hill from her shoes along with the rest of us.’

What Fielding said only made sense if you looked at the world reflected in a distorting mirror. But Paula could see how seductive that picture would be to senior officers keen for a quick arrest that the media would love. The wolf in sheep’s clothing, the gamekeeper turned poacher, the healer undone by his love for the woman who’d abandoned him. ‘And what if someone’s framing him somehow? What then? I don’t believe it.’

Fielding rested her elbows on the desk and her chin on her fists. She appeared to be on the verge of asking a purely philosophical question. ‘I’d expected more from you than grasping at straws. But you’re entitled to that view, McIntyre, paranoid though it might seem to some. The question is, can you put it to one side and do your job?’