Anders was a big man. A big, frightened man. A big, frightened man with a purpose, which was to silence Jane Lockland before she could say any more. What the consequences would be, he had no idea, but he was confident of protection from above. He was a Time Police officer doing his duty. He’d followed his instructions to the letter. Ellis was dead. Grint out of the game. Or soon to be. And, now, inexplicably, the scapegoat had returned to TPHQ.

He plunged through the crowd. Officers went down in all directions. Like skittles, thought Jane, rooted to the spot, staring at the fast approaching Anders. Over all the confusion, she could hear his blaster whining as it charged and then there was the most enormous metallic crash. As if someone had banged a huge gong in some sort of cosmic echo chamber, but much louder. With the sound turned up.

It didn’t happen often, but right at this moment, Officer North was Not Happy. With an already badly dented metal tray in one hand, she brought her arm back for the return blow – a professional-tennis-coach-honed swing that caught Anders across the bridge of his nose again and nearly knocked him off his feet. Followed by her oft-practised backhand. And then her only marginally less lethal forehand. She was building up a nice rhythm. Forehand. Backhand. Forehand. Backhand. The Pod Bay reverberated with the results of years of dedicated practice.

‘Help me up,’ said Ellis faintly. ‘I must see this.’

‘So must I,’ said Max, zooming in and turning up the volume.

Years at St Mary’s had made North more tolerant of irregu­larities than her family and friends would ever have believed possible. Some things, however, still set her off very quickly. The modern expression is trigger point. And this was hers.

Knowing her team as she did, she was convinced Lockland had not shot Ellis. Nor Grint, of course. Which meant Anders was lying. Which meant he was the one who had shot Ellis. And Grint, of course. Anders’s actions had resulted in irregular events. And being associated with irregular events was not good for her career. And no one messed with North’s career.

‘Wow,’ said Max over the sounds of metal regularly contacting nasal bone. ‘Remind me to write a thank-you note to the god of historians.’

‘That’s my girl,’ said Ellis, fuzzily.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

One massive blow finally knocked Anders sideways and down he went.

‘Like a redwood,’ said Luke, happily.

‘I had no idea you had so much fun here at TPHQ,’ said Max. ‘Sadly, he forgot to incriminate himself before he hit the floor.’

‘No matter,’ said Ellis, wearily. ‘Gunshot residue.’

‘What?’