‘First media van arriving now,’ Tripp said. ‘They’ll have to be broadcasting with a time delay in case Janet actually jumps – I mean, not that she’ll jump, but if this was real – it would only be a thirty-second buffer. The images should be all over the Internet shortly and we’ll be just in time to catch the local evening news.’

‘We’ve been avoiding the press with this story,’ Ava said as she scanned the front of the building with binoculars. ‘All suicides run the risk of encouraging others to do the same thing. Why is that? Wouldn’t you think other people would look and say to themselves, I really don’t want that to be me next? I need to get help, change my situation, see my doctor, anything but that.’

‘That’s logic talking, ma’am,’ Tripp said. ‘Mental health isn’t logical. Depression doesn’t follow rules. Misery loves company is a much more realistic way of looking at this. I can see how it would be comforting to know someone else was feeling just as bad as you, and seeing what they’d decided to do about it could be kind of … inspiring, I guess.’

‘You’re not making me feel any more positive about this operation, Sergeant,’ Ava said, picking up a radio and buzzing through to the uniformed officer with overall ground control. ‘Move the onlookers further back from the building’s perimeter. I want a larger safe zone and I need the prople spread thinner so we can get a clear shot of every single face in the crowd.’

The result was instantaneous – four monitors in Ava’s surveillance room immediately filled with clearer shots of individuals. Most were displaying the normal, expected human emotions. Hands were being pressed to mouths, there were tears, parents were shielding the eyes of children – although it would have been better still if the children had been removed entirely from the vicinity – and there was concerned speculation being exchanged.

Then there were the amateur photographers, taking stills, even footage, presumably in the hope of catching those last fateful moments. Wouldn’t that be something to show your mates at the pub in the evening? A few of the better-prepared onlookers were standing around with cans of beer, settling in for the long haul. There was grinning, chatting, and some money was changing hands with a man who was writing slips of paper in return.

‘What the fuck … are they laying bets?’ Ava screeched. ‘Tripp, get a camera on that piece of shit in the brown coat with the orange scarf. I want him under arrest before this is over. I don’t care what else happens today, no one in the city is going to profit from running the odds on whether or not a young woman kills herself.’