Now that last point was interesting. Mickey made the “go on then” face.

‘We’re pretty sure that it was you who raided a Castagna property on the 2nd of May. Number 37 Walcott Road. Actually a pretty good night’s work, if it was you. Whoever it was rescued several female prisoners from a deeply unpleasant future. And gave an almighty kicking to the bastards who were holding them. In and of itself, I’d be more than happy to ignore it. Even give whoever did it a pat on the back. Except whoever it was made the huge mistake of involving the press. Grandstanding, perhaps? Doesn’t fit with the previous kills, but hey, we’ve all got egos.’

Yeah, don’t we? Mickey shot Jasmine a pitying look.

‘Anyway, the long and short of it is that I think Tamara Egerton knows exactly who hit Number 37. Because she was tipped off and waiting.’

‘Which seems to have worked pretty well for you. Career wise, I mean?’

Her jocular tone was promptly replaced by something a good deal more authoritarian.

‘You can display the appropriate respect, Sergeant. You’re so deep in the shit that you’re breathing through a straw, right now, whether you realise it or—’

‘Of course that’s quite possibly not all Tamara Egerton knows.’

Mickey made the statement bluntly. No longer interested in any idea of respect. Left the hook dangling. But not a fishing hook. A meat hook. With Jasmine’s career hanging from it, whether she knew it or not.

‘What do you mean?’

He looked pointedly at Haskins and Irving. Telling Jasmine that she might not want to share the details of what he had to say to her with any other officers. He raised his eyebrows, silently telling her how close to the edge of the ice she was. And Jasmine, whose instincts had always been strong when it came to self-preservation, nodded.

‘Very well. If you believe that there are aspects of this that might be on a need-to-know basis, I’m willing to speak privately in the first instance.’

Haskins shot her a disbelieving look. And got a significant percentage of his safe radiation life dosage in reply.

‘Very well, ma’am. We’ll be outside when you wish to resume. DAC Haskins and DCI Irving leaving the room.’

Haskins and Irving rose from their chairs. Making, Mickey noted, no effort to stop the recording. With the two of them alone, Jasmine played a calculating stare on him.

‘If this is some kind of attempt to bargain your way out of this, it isn’t going to work.’

Mickey folded his arms. His body language deliberate: I have no desire to help you. Then started his counterattack.

‘You’re pretty good friends with Anthea Hall, aren’t you?’

Not bothering to “ma’am” her. Because, as of this moment, Mickey knew that the Met was in his past. And was just a little broken-hearted. Just a little elated.