And nobody but God was going to be helping these guys, Levy thought.

The room was big, almost as large as the building’s footprint. At its far end was a large mahogany desk and behind that a high-back leather chair. Both items were larger than the room’s other furniture. A clear message of the importance of the table’s owner.

The artwork on the walls looked expensive. Levy was no expert – she had no time to be – but she had seen valuable art before and it always had something about it. Levy saw that something here, in the hanging art and in the furniture and the bronze statues that were dotted around the room.

Levy saw and processed all of this in just moments, before her eyes finally settled on Steven Hale near the far end of the room.

‘Dressing to impress today, Steve?’ Levy asked.

Hale was wearing a suit and tie, rather than the forensic outfit he had sported in Phillip Longman’s bedroom. It made him stand out as – other than Levy – everyone else in the room was dressed in their crime-scene whites.

Hale turned at the sound of his name and saw Levy.

‘Heavy traffic, ma’am?’ Hale asked as he walked towards her.

Back at work, back to formalities, Levy thought, and she noted – far from the first time – that a suited and booted Hale looked every inch a police officer. Tall, heavily built and just a little out of shape. But still formidable, with a face that carried the reminders of a violent life.

‘Hellish,’ Levy replied. ‘What do we know?’

‘A little bit more than when I called you an hour ago,’ Hale replied. ‘We had a little chat with the pawnbroker when he turned up to open the shop. It’s amazing how forthcoming the likes of him can be when it avoids a property search.’

‘How has what he told you avoided that?’

‘It hasn’t.’ Hale smiled as he replied. ‘But he doesn’t know that, does he?’

Levy nodded. She was used to Hale enjoying the trickier side of the job. It was her least favourite aspect of what they did – Levy had used enough deception to last a lifetime during her six years in Shin Bet – but it was sometimes necessary. When it was, she was grateful for Hale’s enthusiasm.

‘So what did he tell you?’ Levy asked.

Hale indicated to the large, body-shaped bulk beneath the sheet that was nearest the door.

‘Well, to start with, this fella here is none other than Leon Ferris. You know that name, right?’

‘Shit.’ That response could have been answer enough. ‘Yeah. I know the name.’

‘Cause of death is already established,’ Hale continued. ‘A single knife wound to the underside of the skull. The knife is still in his brain.’

‘The underside?’

‘Yes, ma’am. Through the lower jaw. Only route other than the eyes that misses hard bone.’

‘Someone did that to Leon Ferris?’ It did not fit with what Levy knew of the crime boss. Ferris was a monster. As ruthless and as tough as they come.