“I know,” she says. “I heard about that, too. Sorry.” Maybe she should have started with that as well. “I spoke to him already, but he was right back on to Oscar Cartwright again.” Doggett had basically told her to mind her own bloody business and then made it perfectly clear that without Tyler as her sponsor, once she was well enough, she’d be right back in uniform. “I just don’t think he takes me seriously, Sarge.”

“I’m not sure what you think I can do.”

“Talk to him, make him listen. He’s got to find Wentworth before he sets fire to summat else.” Or someone.

“You’re sure Wentworth was the one who torched the church?”

She hesitates. “Well, I never saw him do it. But he was there. And the only other person who was there is dead!” She sighs heavily, trying to control her temper. “Look, I don’t know. I just think someone needs to talk to him. Please!” Why is she crying? She wipes her eyes with her free hand. Stupid girl, he’s going to think she’s a stupid twat! She can feel her hands shaking as she holds the phone. Sandra’s watching her again. “Look, just piss off, will yer!” Sandra turns back to her telly, her cheeks coloring.

“Sorry?”

“Not you.” Rabbani wipes her eyes and sniffs, but she can’t stop the tears falling now that they’ve started.

“Get some rest,” he tells her. “I’ll look into it.”

“Promise me!”

“I promise.”

“Thanks, Sarge.”

But when she hangs up she feels worse than ever. She hasn’t let herself think about it, but she nearly died! She doesn’t try to stop the tears now, and she decides she doesn’t give a toss what Sandra thinks.

Rabbani buries her head in the scratchy pillow and cries herself to sleep.

—

It’s almost eleven by the time Tyler reaches the village. He considered calling Doggett to lend his own voice to Rabbani’s but decided against it. If she hadn’t managed to convince him, nothing Tyler might say would make a difference. So he decided to speak to Wentworth himself first, to see what he could find out.

He passes the empty churchyard, the blackened husk of the church hulking over it. When he gets to Wentworth’s house, it, too, is in darkness. He rings the bell and waits. Wentworth could be asleep, of course, or down the local pub. But somehow neither of those things fit with what he knows about the man. He could be out setting fire to his next victim.

He rings the bell again. Nothing. No, there is something—the dog barking. But muffled, as though it’s a long way off. Tyler presses the doorbell again and knocks hard.

“Mr. Wentworth?”