Jack ignored the sarcasm. ‘I know the world De Voe lives in. I suggest that I go back to London and get on the inside. From there, I can do more. Oxfordshire is your territory, DI Lee. London is mine.’

Lee was clearly finding it difficult to fault Jack’s logic, so Jack gave it one final push. ‘Ex-prime minister Cameron is opening the equestrian event. His property hasn’t been hit yet – for one thing Charlotte doesn’t work for him – but I think all bets are off now, don’t you? Everyone will be out of their homes. Everyone is a target. Sir, if you think Barrowman will be grateful when we catch these bastards, just imagine the praise that’ll come our way from someone like Cameron.’

Lee didn’t respond immediately, asking Jack to pop into Gifford’s office with him whilst they discussed a few details.

Once the door was closed, he let rip. ‘Is that how you see me, Jack? With my head halfway up the most important arse in the county? You don’t understand: I’m not in this for the fucking kudos; I’m just seeing the bigger picture. The bigwigs that you insist on ignoring are the same people who have the ear of the DCI. That matters because, whether you like it or not, we’re answerable to them. One of us has to keep that in mind.’ He gave Jack a hard stare. ‘So, you go back to London, Jack. But you report to me daily and you don’t act without my say-so. This must be coordinated, or it goes tits-up in the blink of an eye. This gang has taken the piss for three years – they hire horseboxes from right under our noses in the name of Mr Smart, for fuck’s sake! We’re different coppers, me and you, and that’s fine, but if you can’t work under my lead, now’s the time to say so.’

Jack gave him his sincerest smile. ‘I can, sir.’

Lee nodded but still looked at him suspiciously, suspecting that Jack had somehow got the better of him.

*