Bright sunlight is shattered by the frosted glass of the window, creating a dance of fireflies across the polystyrene ceiling. Doggett is standing next to him, his leg twitching, and Tyler finds the movement oddly comforting. DCI Jordan is standing on the other side of the desk, her back to them, talking into her mobile. Or listening for the most part; Superintendent Stevens is the one doing all the talking. After a few minutes, she ends the call without saying goodbye. She turns and then sits down at the desk. “Rabbani?” she asks.

Doggett shakes his head. “No change.”

“Any idea what she was doing there?”

Doggett employs his trademark shrug.

“She was looking into Thorogood,” Tyler tells her.

Jordan sighs loudly and sits down behind the desk. She looks at him, and he knows what’s coming before she speaks.

“I’m taking you off the case.” She says it quietly, and Tyler nods.

Doggett says, “Ma’am, I don’t think—”

“No, you don’t, do you?” She slams her hand down on the desk.

Doggett opens his mouth to go on and then evidently changes his mind.

Jordan sighs again and rubs her forehead. “Just wait outside, Jim. I’ll deal with you later.”

He hesitates, then turns and places his bony palm on Tyler’s shoulder. He squeezes it in a peculiarly intimate way and then he’s gone, the door closing behind Tyler with a soft click.

Diane Jordan says, “I can’t protect you this time, Adam.”

“I know.”

She shakes her head. “Why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you just tell me you knew him?”

He wishes he could answer that.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m sorry we no longer have the sort of relationship where you feel you can talk to me.”

And he realizes she’s right. They don’t have that relationship anymore.

He thinks back to how it used to be, how much she did for him in the past. He was a scared sixteen-year-old. A child, forced into becoming an adult before he was ready. He can still see the light that sparkled on her face then even as it does now, only back then it was the reflected light of a glitter ball, and the electric-blue glow of the alcopop in his hands. He doesn’t know how she found him, but then it’s hard to lose yourself in a community as small as the Sheffield scene. Hard to lose yourself, but easy to be lost.

It had been just six weeks since the death of his father. Six weeks of hedonistic excess. Drinking in bars and clubs, talking to other lost souls. Accepting the kindnesses of strangers, though they weren’t always that kind. Six weeks living out of a rucksack, and sleeping on floors and in beds of varying degrees of warmth, simply because he couldn’t bear to go home.