Draper told the lie that Michael would not.

Maybe she thinks that’s true, Michael thought. Or maybe she doesn’t give a shit about Kash’s safety.

Draper continued.

‘If you let us take on O’Driscoll we can make sure he’s kept away from you. But you need to let us do what’s best for you. You have to let Michael prove that O’Driscoll is guilty of this murder, but that he didn’t do it with you.’

Kash shook his head again. The movement released the tear that had been building in his eye. That tear and some more. Kash looked down once again.

‘Darren had nothing to do with it.’ His voice was weak. Unconvincing.

Michael recognised the answer for what it was. A mantra. Drilled into Kash by bigger, stronger men.

‘I’d like to go back to my cell now, please.’

‘Simon, you really need to listen—’

This time is was Ross who spoke. The beginning of a plea to Kash’s good sense. Michael reached out, gripped Ross’s forearm and stopped him from saying more with a shake of the head.

‘Maybe that’s best, Simon,’ Michael said. His instinct was that further pressure at this stage could backfire. ‘Maybe you should go back to your cell, and we’ll head back upstairs. We can all speak later.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Once again Kash spoke without looking up. As soon as the words were out he got to his feet, manoeuvred himself awkwardly from his seat and walked to the doorway. Where he stopped.

Kash stood almost a foot below the six-foot-six doorframe, with almost as much space between his sloping narrow shoulders and the frame’s sides. The contrast made look as small as Michael had ever seen him, but nothing could have prepared him for what Kash did next.

Simon Kash turned and looked back directly at Michael and spoke just two more words before leaving.

‘I’m sorry.’

TWENTY-SIX

Joelle Levy was back behind the same desk in the MIT New Scotland Yard communal working space. Levy’s office was on the same floor, and it was both quieter and more comfortable. But it was also away from her team people, and so away from the case.

Ridiculous as she found the idea of police officers hot-desking, Levy preferred to be here. In the beating heart of the Major Investigation Team.

Two of the three tables from yesterday were gone. The files that had sat upon them were back in the archives; the evidence of Phillip Longman’s life in the law once again gathering dust.

Only one table remained. A table that now carried just five files.

‘The sift was a hell of a lot more productive this time,’ Levy observed as Detective Constable Sally Ryan placed a sixth file onto the small stack. ‘How many more to come, Sally?’

‘This is it, ma’am,’ Ryan replied.

Levy allowed herself a relieved smile. Adam Blunt’s death had made all the difference. Cross-referencing cases where Longman had been the judge and Adam Blunt the solicitor had narrowed the field enormously. It also erased the search terms that had bothered both Levy and Hale so much.