He should leave. He has no real reason for being here and certainly no authority to be. If Wentworth is the arsonist—the killer—Tyler’s interference is only going to jeopardize the case further. He cups his hands to the dirty glass of the bay window, but the nets and the darkness conspire against him. There’s something, though. A shape in the dark.

“Mr. Wentworth? It’s DS Tyler. We spoke a few days ago. Can I come in?” The figure doesn’t move. “I know you’re there, Joe. Can you open the door, please?” The shadow disappears from view. Tyler reaches out slowly and tries the handle. The door opens. “Joe?”

He reaches for his mobile before realizing it’s still plugged in back at the flat. After speaking to Rabbani he’d tried unplugging it, but for some reason the phone wouldn’t hold its charge when disconnected. The battery’s been dodgy for a while now, or maybe something came loose when he dropped it. The sound of the yapping dog comes to him louder now, but still muffled. He steps across the threshold. There’s something else, too. A faint smell that seems to get weaker the harder he sniffs at it. In the living room he can just make out the shape of Wentworth in his chair.

“Can you put the light on?” he asks. “Joe?” His hand inches its way along the wall to the switch, but when he presses it nothing happens.

“Mr. Wentworth, I need you to answer me, please.”

Tyler trips on something, dislodging a pile of newspaper that slides to the floor with a thump. He coughs. The house is stuffy and it’s difficult to breathe. And that smell; he can almost taste it. Something that makes him think of car fumes.

When he gets to the armchair Wentworth’s eyes are closed. He reaches out and the man groans, his eyelids fluttering slightly. Wentworth tries to speak, but Tyler can’t quite make it out. He leans forward.

It’s not so much a sound as a sense of movement, and the door to the kitchen sweeps wide. The room is suddenly flooded with bright orange light. Tyler’s still turning when something hits him hard on the forehead, twisting him back around. He falls, spread-eagled across the gardener, his head reverberating, white light flashing across his eyes.

Now he smells the smoke. His knee pushes into Wentworth’s saggy groin, but the man is silent and doesn’t move. Tyler lurches back to his feet and staggers away. He notes a dark smudge on Wentworth’s forehead and puts his hand to his own head. It comes away sticky and red. The pain in his head intensifies. He can’t see anything. Just dark shapes and that dull flickering light.