Paula stood in the middle of the room, feeling like a failure. All the things that had gone wrong with this case felt like a personal rebuke. She should have resisted Fielding more forcefully. She should have confronted Gareth Taylor as soon as Carol came up with his name. Certainly as soon as there was any suggestion that Marie might be missing. Like all cops, Paula carried the burden of what she might have done differently. Marie Mather’s death had just added major weight to that burden.

Tony’s first thought after release had been a fierce longing for his own bed. But Bronwen Scott had been waiting for him. She’d whisked him off to a quiet corner and given him a brief rundown on what had happened in the previous few hours. ‘Carol did the business, and Paula picked up the pieces,’ Scott had said, a feline smile of contentment on her face.

‘What about Fielding?’

Scott’s smile widened. ‘Fucked. I see a great future for her in Traffic.’

‘I’m glad they’ve stopped him.’

Scott appeared to have lost interest. ‘Yes, yes. That’s always good.’

‘So, can I go home now?’ He tried not to sound like an overtired plaintive child, but he suspected he’d failed. Twenty-eight hours in custody could do that to a man.

Scott laughed. He’d always wondered what writers meant when they described a laugh as a tinkle. Now he knew. A brittle, musical sound. ‘Sorry, Tony, but there’s still work to be done. We’re going to see Blake.’

‘The Chief? Why?’

‘Because you’re going to be suing BMP for a very large sum of money for wrongful arrest, false imprisonment and damage to your personal and professional reputation.’

‘I am?’

‘You are.’

‘I don’t believe in suing public institutions. It’s a waste of taxpayers’ money that could be better spent doing other things.’

She looked at him as if he were mad. ‘Fielding fucked you over. They’ve damaged your reputation, and that’s what you live by. You deserve to be compensated.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t think there was malice involved. Fielding just got a crazy idea in her head and dug herself in too deep.’

‘Nevertheless. This is payback time. BMP owe you.’

‘I don’t want —’ He’d been about to say ‘their money’, but then a better idea occurred to him. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and see Blake.’

So here they were, walking into Blake’s office, a sanctum like a gentlemen’s club. Tony wondered if you could buy a room spray that smelled of leather and cologne and cigars, because he’d have sworn that’s what it smelled like.