The station was a three-storey, characterless new-build forming an ugly blot on the beautiful Cotswold landscape. The inside was as dull as the outside, and the squad room looked like any other office. If it hadn’t been for the evidence board displaying crime scene photos, it could easily have been mistaken for an estate agent’s. Gifford led Jack to an empty desk near the window, so he could admire the view whilst ploughing through the huge pile of files and statements waiting for him. ‘My office is over there,’ Gifford said with a frown, pointing to a partitioned corner of the main room, which wasn’t really an office at all.

‘Oaks!’ A young male officer promptly appeared at Gifford’s side. ‘DC William Oaks, DS Jack Warr from the Met. Oaks will show you round and answer any questions. He’s been involved from the off, so he knows his stuff.’ Then Gifford pulled his mobile from his pocket and headed to his office to read his messages.

‘Drink?’ Oaks asked, and, with that one word, Jack knew that Oaks did not want him there. Jack declined the drink and instead asked Oaks to sit and talk him through the case notes. Within minutes, Jack had made Oaks feel so important that the young DC was putty in his hands. Oaks’s strong Gloucestershire roots gave him one of those accents that unfortunately made him sound like a yokel; but it was soon clear to Jack that he was as sharp as a tack and had a natural aptitude for the job. And Oaks also clearly cared about the work he did here. That’s why he was initially hostile towards Jack, because he was embarrassed that they’d reached a dead end in the case. Jack knew that he’d do well to keep Oaks close, as he’d be far more acceptable to the local homeowners than a stranger from out of town. After an hour of learning, Jack knocked on Gifford’s office door. ‘If it’s all right with you, sir, I’ll settle into my digs, then have a look around.’

Oaks had driven less than half a mile down the road, when he pulled into a layby. His head was turned away from Jack. ‘Sir . . .’ he muttered in a shamefaced tone. Oaks plucked up the courage to look at Jack before continuing, ‘I’ve booked you into a right shithole. Me and the lads thought it’d be funny, see. Well, not funny, just . . . I don’t know. When the Guvnor said a DS from the Met was coming to help out, we . . . well, we thought you’d come in all bluff ’n’ balls, bossing us about and treating us like we didn’t know how to do the job. So, I booked you into a shithole.’