Tyler smiles to take the sting out of his words. “I understand that, in the past, a number of arsonists have turned out to be fire officers.”

The crowd parts, and he spots Sally-Ann again. She’s standing alone at the edge of the dance floor. The brunette foal from earlier has moved on and is all over a pretty blond woman now, their hands moving frantically across each other’s backs while they attempt to suck each other’s faces off.

“You seem to know a lot about arsonists all of a sudden.”

“I’ve been doing some research.” Tyler turns back to see Enfield eyeing him closely, the frown back on his forehead. “You suspect me.”

Enfield cocks his head to one side, perhaps embarrassed to have been found out. “It’s the authority pyromaniacs fixate on, not firefighting. Just as many turn out to be coppers.”

“It seems we both fit the profile.”

“Are you an arsonist?”

“No, are you?”

“No.” Enfield grins widely. “Now that’s sorted, maybe I can take you for a proper drink.” He’s interrupted as somebody careers into the back of him, pitching him forward.

The man who sent Enfield flying is a big bear of a guy. Beyond him stands Oscar, swaying slightly. The bear starts toward him and Tyler moves quickly, stepping between the two of them. “That’s enough.”

The bear squares up to him. “What the fuck’s it got to do with you, princess?”

Tyler pulls out his wallet and flashes his warrant card in the man’s face.

The bear’s attitude crumbles. “Look, sorry, luv, all right? I’m not looking for trouble.” A hand strays subconsciously to his back pocket. He’s carrying. Pills or dope, most likely.

“Walk away then.”

The bear nods and melts into the throng of clubbers.

“I could’ve handled it,” Oscar says. His words are slurred.

“Sit down for a minute.” Tyler orders a glass of water, and the barman thanks him for interceding. He glances at Paul Enfield, who nods his understanding. Then he has to half-carry Oscar to the sofa in the chill-out corner. The barman brings over the water.

“Doggett thinks the woman they’ve found is Cynthia.” Not Mum, or Mother. Cynthia. Oscar upends the glass and downs the water in one. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Getting your face smashed in isn’t going to help.”

Oscar puts down the glass and cradles his head in his hands. “I’ll be all right.” He looks up at the door. “Sorry I ruined your evening.”

Tyler glances back to the bar in time to see Paul Enfield heading out the door. He doubts the man is just going out for a smoke.

Oscar touches his arm, drawing back his attention. “Let me buy you a drink. Just to say thank you, for everything.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”