For the next two hours, Stanford gave Mike the floor and he talked them through the Alley Burglar case. Stanford made copious notes, highlighting potential new approaches. Mike drew a map showing where all of the burglaries in his operation had occurred and, by the time he’d finished, a familiar fish-shape pattern was clear to see. Mike explained what Jack and Richard were now looking at. ‘The first burglary we knew about wasn’t the first one he did, our second wasn’t his second and so on. It was only when we caught him that this fish-shape emerged. Our perp lived in a squat situated right in the middle of the fishtail. His first burglary was the closest to his squat, out to the left – the top of the tail fin. His second burglary was the closest to his squat out to the right – the bottom of the tail fin. Then he went further and wider as he got ballsier, until he drew a fish across his self-selected patch. This pattern allowed us to predict roughly where his next burglary would take place . . . and that’s how we caught him red-handed.’

Mike could see the fascination on Stanford’s face.

‘Weird, innit, Rich. But this sort of subconscious pattern is very common according to the boffins at Bramshill. They’re the brains who spend their time making sense of the senseless, so I can stand here sounding clever. After we’d caught him, this pattern also allowed us to go back and find every single burglary he’d committed and do him for the lot. Your man won’t be being random either, Rich.’

Jack loved that Mike, as retired Job, was able to call DS Stanford ‘Rich’. It brought an informal friendliness to a situation full of tension because of the hole Stanford was in. Mike ended his stint at the evidence board with ‘I’m gonna need a cuppa soon, Rich, if that’s OK with you, mate’.

Energised by Mike’s informal approach and easy confidence, Stanford had suddenly found a new lease of life. ‘Take yourselves to the canteen and bring me back a tea, will you?’ he said. Jack and Mike threw each other a quick grin. They knew that when they returned, there’d be a second fish scrawled on the evidence board.

The canteen was empty, and the cleaner was taking advantage of the fact that most coppers were out on patrol. From the doorway, Jack and Mike could see the glistening wet floor and they wondered why on earth she’d started mopping from the doorway, ending up in the corner of the room with no way out other than back over her pristine floor. They watched in silence as she walked backwards towards the serving counter, sweeping broadly left and right, leaving the lino as clean as the day it was laid. The only marks that defeated her were the black rubber heel scuffs from police issue boots.