There are three fire engines, their blue lights battling the orange firelight as the water from their hoses fights the fire. Only two of the trucks are in use; the third stands idly by and after a few minutes departs, ashamed by its redundancy. Finally the police cars begin to arrive. Paul jokes that his lot—meaning Tyler’s—are always the last to arrive. Soon the small close is full of people, a mixture of uniforms and neighbors in nightclothes.

Tyler sits on the edge of the pavement. Paul towers over him, places a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, “you all right?”

“You saved my life.”

“Some people freeze; it happens. Let me look at that head.” Paul puts his hands on either side of Tyler’s face and focuses on a point somewhere above his left eye. “You’ll live,” he says. “The wound’s closed. You might have a mild concussion. We’ll get you checked out.” His hands fall away again. He stretches his fingers, cracks the joints. “Did you see him?”

Tyler wonders how much Paul Enfield weighs. He lifted Joe Wentworth with the smallest grunt. Whoever dragged Thorogood round the church had to be strong.

“No,” he says. “He hit me before I saw him.” He looks up at the fire officer. “That was just before you arrived.” The man has just saved his life, but he asks it anyway. He can’t help himself. “What were you doing here?”

Enfield smiles, a sort of disappointed understanding, perhaps. “I was reexamining the crime scenes. You remember the allotment owned by Cyril Armitage? Turns out he was Wentworth’s father-in-law. I was on my way here from the scout hut when I saw the flames. You might also be interested to learn that Thorogood was a scout leader.”

“Yes, Rabbani found that out, just before . . .”

Enfield raises his eyebrows. “That would have been nice to know earlier.”

“There was a lot going on.” It’s hardly fair, but Tyler doesn’t feel like being fair right now. “Isn’t it a bit late for house calls?” he asks.

“Yes,” Enfield says. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”

The fire is under control now, but the engines still pump gallons of water into the small cottage. Enfield goes to speak with the firefighters. Tyler watches the flames rage. He understands now what Enfield was trying to tell him. There is a beauty here. Something dangerously compelling. He turns and searches the faces lining the street. Is he out there somewhere? Watching.

Another car pulls up and is waved through the police cordon. Doggett’s voice drifts across the street. “What the bloody hell are you doing at my crime scene, Tyler?”

“The usual, Jim. Compromising cases, that sort of thing.”

“Where’s Wentworth?”

“Hospital.”