As soon as she left the ward, even as she was negotiating the corridors out of the hospital, she made the call to Sophie Denham. Tyler had told her he was having trouble reaching the girl, so she was surprised when she managed to get through the first time. At first, Denham refused to speak to her, but Rabbani swallowed her pride and begged. She needed to know only one thing. Eventually Denham agreed. Rabbani asked the question Tyler had given her, and Denham gave the answer. Just like that. No equivocation, no reluctance to confide or attempt to find the right words. All of which only convinced Rabbani she was telling the truth. After a couple of hours of listening to the same honeyed voice tell her how sorry she was that her call could not be connected, she’d called in a favor from a girl she knew in HR in order to get hold of Tyler’s address.

Now what? She hasn’t thought much past this point. She’s more convinced than ever that something is wrong and yet . . . how to convey that to anyone who’ll give a damn? She can imagine the response she’d get from Doggett.

There’s a gentle click, and the gates to the block of flats in front of her swing silently open. A Mercedes swings round the corner and sails past her. She ducks through the gates as they swing closed, but the concierge has his head out of the door before she’s made it past the first block. “Excuse me, love? Are you visiting someone?”

“Tyler. Flat 123.”

“Popular fellow.” The concierge turns and a large black guy steps out of the office behind him. It’s the fire officer, Enfield.

“You’re looking for DS Tyler?” he asks her.

Rabbani nods.

“Apparently he left about twenty minutes ago.”

She introduces herself and then thanks the concierge for his help. The man hovers for a moment and then slips back into his office, clearly put out that he’s not to be included in the drama.

“Do you know where he is? He’s not answering his phone.”

Enfield shakes his head. “I’ve been trying to reach him myself.” He scratches his neck with a massive hand and Rabbani swallows, determined not to stare at his muscles. Well, not too obviously, anyway.

“There was another fire last night,” he tells her. “Adam was injured.”

“Injured? How?”

Enfield frowns at her. “You’re the girl from the church,” he says as though suddenly recognizing her.

She lets the girl comment go. “What do you mean, ‘injured’?”

“Nothing too serious. He probably shouldn’t be driving, though.”

“Maybe I should speak to the DI,” she says.

Suddenly Enfield is in front of her. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He has his hand on her arm now. She pulls it away sharply.

“Why not?”

“The arsonist. I think he’s one of yours.”