Mark Taylor nodded. ‘OK, sir, what I suggest is I put two teams of officers on it, both on twelve-hour shifts – they’ll stay longer if a changeover would compromise a particular situation. All our comms will be on our secure radio channel on our phones. I’ll be running five vehicles, a motorbike, a mix of sexes, some solo, some dual. A mix of cars, white and grey vans, some with fake company names. When it’s dark we can also put a tracker on his car, after getting the necessary authorization. We’ll also figure out a way of bugging his house.’

‘That could be very helpful.’

‘We also have drone operators available, with infrared cameras, if that should be necessary, sir,’ Taylor said.

‘And you’ll start straight after your briefing?’ Grace asked.

Taylor shook his head. ‘We’ve already started, sir. I have, thanks to the cooperation of the Greyhound Stadium opposite the Paternosters’ house, an observation point, with an officer already in position with a long-lens video camera. He’s taken over from your guys. I’ve also got a vehicle at each end of Nevill Road in case he goes anywhere before the whole team’s ready. I will also have one of our brightest members, Sharon Orman, who is hard of hearing – you would never know it – joining the team after giving evidence in court on a current trial – hopefully she’ll be done there today and able to join the team. Her particular expertise is lip-reading from long range. She’s remarkably effective, even through night-vision lenses.’

Grace thanked him.

As soon as Taylor and Brogan had left his office, Branson asked Grace if he’d like a lift back home.

He shook his head. ‘Thanks, mate, but I’d like to come to the evening briefing meeting. I’d prefer to keep occupied than go home and just let it all—’ He stopped, his voice choked up. Thinking about Bruno lying in the hospital bed in his Bayern Munich strip, surrounded surreally by all the technical apparatus. He gave Branson a soulful look. ‘If you understand?’

‘Of course.’

‘I don’t want to steal your thunder as Acting SIO – you can lead the meeting if you’d like?’

‘No way,’ Branson said in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘If you’re going to be there, you’re the boss!’

Grace looked at his watch. It was now 4.45 p.m. ‘If we could bring it forward, from 6.30 p.m. to 5.30 p.m., it would help. Then I can get home to be with Cleo – she’s pretty cut-up too, as you can imagine.’

‘Of course, 5.30 p.m. it is.’ Branson extended a hand and squeezed Grace’s arm, looking into his eyes. ‘Look, I know you’re an old wise man, and I’m just a humble upstart wannabe, but I’ve been through grief in my time, too. I lost my close friend, who was everything to me, when she was around Bruno’s age – I told you, I’m sure, she had a brain tumour. I got through it, eventually, by bawling my eyes out for days on end. I bawled and bawled until I had nothing left inside. Somehow, I got it out of my system – well, the worst of it. The sense of losing her and how unfair it was. Now, all these years on, whenever I think about her it’s only good thoughts. Smiling at the fun we had together. That’s my advice: don’t bottle it up, sodding well let it all out. Yeah?’