“Careful, Jim, you’re growing soft in your old age.”

Before Doggett can respond, Sally-Ann answers without saying hello. “This isn’t a good time. Can I call you—?”

He cuts her off: “Actually, this is work related.” Has he pissed her off somehow? Probably.

“Oh,” she says. “Go on then.”

He outlines what they know about the fire watcher and gives her the Web address. She’s silent at first and then seems to get excited, as though she can’t help getting drawn in, despite how pissed off she might be. “So you think this is your killer then? The Cartwright case?”

“I can’t give you any details at this point, but I can tell you you’d be helping us out. A lot.”

She giggles with excitement. “Sure. I should be able to trace it. Unless your killer is some kind of computer whiz and has managed to cover his tracks. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“How long?”

She hesitates, then, “I should have an answer for you by tomorrow.”

“Great, thanks, Sal.”

“Adam, wait! Don’t hang up.”

He waits, but she’s fallen silent. Eventually he says, “I’m still here. Go on.”

“It’s just . . . I need to tell you something.”

“Okay. Can it wait? I mean, I’m sorry if I upset you the other night or something, but I’ve got a fair bit on at work at the moment and—”

“I know, I know. I get it, only . . . this might be about work.” There’s a long silence, which he resolves not to break. Finally her voice comes to him, quiet and tiny. She says, “It’s just . . . I think I might have done something really stupid.”

—

“I set you up,” says Sally-Ann.

They are standing outside the headquarters of the South Yorkshire Police. The soon-to-be old headquarters; the building is less than a month from demolition. With a backward stretch, and standing on tiptoe, it is possible to see the shiny new building a few streets over, twice the size. The move has begun; around them huddle numerous unmarked white vans filled with paperwork no one knows what to do with.

Sally-Ann plays with her earring, picks at her nails, and fails to meet his eye directly. She’s still draped in fabric; a thick, long-sleeved turtleneck that must be ridiculously hot. As if that wasn’t enough, she’s topped it off with an incongruous paisley summer scarf that even Audrey Hepburn couldn’t have pulled off. She must mistake his interest in her because she says, “Please don’t look at me like that. You’re a terrible person to disappoint, do you know that?” She looks round as a group of people exit the building. One of them, a short woman Tyler vaguely recognizes, waves to Sally-Ann, and she smiles and waves back. Then she sighs heavily. “Oscar,” she says, “I set you up with Oscar.”

A bus pulls up at the light and lets out a sharp hiss of pneumatic brakes.