‘Jesus.’

‘The true effect. The moment itself. It was amazing!’

‘That’s how you’re describing it?’

‘I mean, it helped Tommy, it really did.’

Hobbes wanted to laugh. ‘The other night he was drunk, off his head, stomping around a crime scene like an idiot.’

‘Because … because he’s better now, he’s working. He’s searching.’

‘This is fucked up, Meg.’

‘Oh, totally. You couldn’t get more fucked up. But here’s the truth.’ She had Hobbes’s complete attention. ‘The truth is, I do love him. I love Tommy. It’s not the sort of love his mum’s thinking about, nothing like that, nothing at all. But there it is.’

Having said this, Latimer sighed. She lowered her head. He could see her hands, one worrying at the other, spinning a silver ring around an index finger over and over. ‘I’m forty-two. Divorced. No kids. This shitty job.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Like it or lump it, I can do what the hell I like. And furthermore,’ she drew a hard breath, ‘I don’t give a monkey’s arsehole what you or any of the other guys say about me.’

Hobbes nodded at this. He knew it was true. ‘You and Tommy seem to hate each other. Most of the time.’

‘We do, when we’re not having a laugh about it. But lately …’

‘He needs help?’

‘We’re cops. And we stick together. And that means for good or bad.’

Hobbes remembered that Fairfax had said a similar thing: It’s a knife-edge. Good, or bad. And for a copper, that was the most difficult of all balancing acts. Christ, but it got to you! It was so easy to tip, one way or the other …

‘You’ll have words with him, Meg?’

‘About what?’

‘Tell him to stop. To stop looking into the Graves case.’

‘You started that, showing him the photographs.’

‘Didn’t you encourage him as well? I’ve seen his room. There’s stuff in there – names, addresses, details – only you could have given to him.’

Latimer was irritated. ‘I don’t get you, Guv. Do you want him back in here? Or not?’

Hobbes walked out of the office. His voice was cold. ‘My only concern is to make sure Fairfax doesn’t cock up our investigation.’

‘He won’t.’ She followed him out. ‘I’m sure of it. I won’t let that happen.’

‘After what you’ve told me today, I just don’t know …’

‘One last chance. That’s all.’

‘I’m sure you’ve said that before, about him.’

The telephone was ringing on Latimer’s desk. She snatched it up. ‘This had better be good!’ And then she went quiet, and listened. Worry crossed her face.

Hobbes came close.

She said into the phone. ‘He’s here? Really?’

And she listened some more. ‘No, keep him there. I’ll be right down.’

She put the phone in its cradle.

‘What is it?’ Hobbes asked.

‘The devil himself.’

‘You mean—’

‘It’s Tommy. Down in Reception.’

‘What does he want?’

‘I don’t know, but he wants to talk to me.’