No more calls tonight.

The fresh bottle and glass still sat on the table beside Reid’s chair. He filled the glass without sitting, put it to his lips and drained the contents. Then he wiped a tear from his eye. It was replaced by another.

Reid no longer had control of his emotions. The drink had finally hit.

It’s about bloody time.

Derek Reid was not an intrusive neighbour. He took little interest in the comings and goings of the quiet Islington square in which he lived. Paid little attention to either his neighbours or their visitors. Reid respected the privacy of those around him, and he hoped those neighbours would return the courtesy.

It was an ethos shared by all in Lonsdale Square. A community of wealthy professionals, all seemed determined to keep themselves to themselves. These were people who relied on regular police patrols for their safety and whose trust in that protection made them complacent.

And so these were not people who would have noticed the pale-eyed stranger who had passed their doors three times in less than an hour.

FORTY-TWO

‘But remember we’re here the moment you need us, Derek. And remember we love you.’

Sarah listened to Derek Reid’s response. Then to the sound of the line going dead. She took the phone away from her ear. Placed it back into her pocket.

I hope he really is OK.

Of Michael’s two closest friends, it was Reid that Sarah knew best. That was inevitable. The other was Joe Dempsey, now based in New York but a man Sarah doubted she would really know even if he lived next door. She would never forget how much she and Michael both owed to Dempsey. How could she? But it was Reid with whom she had built her own friendship.

It was Reid she had grown to love.

Sarah knew that Michael was concerned for his old pupil-master. That he feared the impact of Longman’s death. So did Sarah.

Like Michael, Reid was a man of few friendships. But also like Michael, when he had them they were intense. Michael was like a brother to Reid. Sarah knew that. And she also knew that Longman had been as close as a father.

It made her worry for Reid.

He’ll be fine, Sarah told herself. Let him get on with it. You’ve got a job to do.

Sarah forced the thought of Reid from her mind and took a drink from the water bottle she held in her hand. It was much needed in the heat. Somehow it was still stifling at 6 p.m.

She dabbed a delicate sheen of sweat from her brow, careful not to take her on-screen make-up with it. She looked across the street as she did so. Towards New Scotland Yard and the mass of reporters and TV cameras that had formed outside of its main doors.

Two outside-broadcast trucks had parked end to end while Sarah had been using her phone. They blocked her direct route from the river side to the huddled press, but Sarah slipped between them and headed towards Nathan Benson. Her young cameraman had managed to position himself in the centre of the group, securing his lens the best line of sight.