Levy had noticed that those same colleagues often had the most to hide.

‘Is there anything on me that shouldn’t be there, Steve?’

Detective Inspector Steven Hale reacted immediately; it was a drill he and his DCI had perfected long ago. Levy was about to speak to the press after two hours in a messy crime scene. If so much as a spot of Phillip Longman’s blood were to show up on screen it could be a PR disaster. And so Hale studied her carefully.

‘You’re clean,’ he finally offered.

‘Thanks.’

Levy reached up and removed the band that held her hair tight to her head. She felt her heavy black mane fall against her neck, settling just above her shoulders.

‘Wicked Witch to Scarlett O’Hara,’ Hale said with a smile.

‘Very funny,’ she shot back. Levy had no particular interest in her appearance but she was a realist. Like it or not, as a woman she would be judged. Hair pulled back equalled stern. Hair down equalled approachable. Any detail that brought the public onside was worth doing.

She turned towards the now fully opened gate. ‘Bring them in.’

Hale gestured to the officer at the gate, who promptly led the reporters and cameramen onto the driveway. Towards where Levy and Hale stood by the property’s front door. The questions started even before the small press pack had come to a halt.

‘Officer, can you comment on reports that the victim was a senior judge?’

‘Is it correct that a judge has been murdered inside the house?’

‘Officer, is there any connection between the victim and any ongoing court case?’

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we can’t and won’t answer any questions that can identify a victim of crime at this sensitive time.’ Levy’s answer left no room for discussion. The questions stopped.

‘What I can do is share with you the bare bones of what we have, and as always if you play ball with us now, you’ll have the benefit of our thanks later. Everyone on board?’

‘Quid pro quo?’ The question came from the only reporter who, until now, had stayed silent. Levy recognised her as Sarah Truman. ‘Whatever comes out later, we hear it first?’

‘That goes without saying, Miss Truman.’

‘Not always.’

Levy smiled. She respected professionalism, in her own industry and in any other, and she was well aware of Sarah’s reputation.

‘Then take it from me personally. All four of you will get priority on any information we can release, as and when we can release it. Just as long as you’re all onside for now.’

‘Good enough for me.’ Sarah moved sideways as she spoke, giving her cameraman the clearest view as Levy prepared to make her statement. ‘Ready when you are.’

TEN

The Thames shimmered as Michael looked down from Waterloo Bridge. The cloudless sky reflected blue in the otherwise murky water. An illusion that added to the beauty of London’s finest view.

Michael had always enjoyed this walk. Waterloo Station to Middle Temple. A bare mile, door to door, the route took him across Waterloo Bridge and its unmatched vista of London’s most iconic landmarks. Each one a reminder of how far Michael had come from the grim streets of his childhood. It was why Michael had chosen this spot – dead centre between the Strand and South Bank – to propose to Sarah only twelve months after they had met.