Shen gathered up her printouts and highlighter.

There was still a mass of film to view. ‘I’ll get some ops to help with the CCTV. Alexej, can you liaise with them, please? Dig up all the dirt you can on Artem Gudelis. Girlfriends, employees, fall-outs, the shed fire. Has anything happened between him and Simas?’ I paused. ‘Run a full check on Olaf too.’

‘Sure.’ Alexej spun his chair back to face his computer screens.

‘I’ll make sure the lab is prioritising the ID of our UnSub.’ It was seven fifteen. We still needed to know why Ali Kousa had lied about his arrival time at the flash mob. The analysts had found an address for him and Riad in Sophie Williams’ comms data. ‘Ali has to be at home now, surely?’ I said to Dan. ‘Shall we see what he’s got to say? This time I’ll tell Rima we’ll give her a call when we know we’ve got the right address.’

Maya, 7.30 p.m.

Maya, 7.30 p.m.

‘How much did this lot cost then?’ Dan pointed at the recently landscaped gardens and new wooden benches.

We’d arrived at Stepney’s Ocean Estate, to interview Ali Kousa.

‘Twenty-two million. It’s won design awards. Been all over the news.’

Dan whistled. ‘Very nice.’

‘It needed the investment. Been one of the most deprived estates in the country for years. When Dougie and I were training, we’d have a call-out here practically every day.’

‘I’m impressed. It’s often cheaper to flatten the lot and start again. Looks like they’ve added a health centre over there, and some shops and a job centre.’

‘Duckett House is this way. It’s very different.’ I pointed at the looming tower block and a few moments later, we were in front of a derelict building. Sheets of metal covered ground floor windows. Others were smashed and gaping. On the dull concrete fascia, chalky water deposits told tales of leaking gutters and downpipes. A boy, around Ali’s age, was repeatedly kicking a ball – bang, bang, bang – against a wall while his two mates looked on.

‘Jeez. What happened? Why’d this place get left off the development schedule?’

‘The council ran out of money.’

Dan approached the boys. ‘Any idea where 286a is, fellas?’

‘You feds?’ One of the boys asked.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘That one over there.’ He pointed at a ground floor flat, one with boarded windows.

Dan’s gaze met mine.

‘I hope they’re winding us up.’ I kept my voice low.

‘It may be a lot better inside than it looks from here.’ Dan scoped the block. ‘I’d guess the main entrance is that one with the knackered CCTV.’ He pointed, and began striding towards a set of metal double-doors.

The three boys had gathered in a scrum and were whispering. Nudging and pointing.