‘Well, if he did die before the blast, how come he was there at all? And what about survivors? Do any of them remember anything?’

No one spoke. It was becoming horribly clear to Tom why these questions had gone unanswered. It wasn’t for any lack of commitment to the investigation but a consequence of Woolf’s lack of resources. What had changed, Tom realized, was his own position. Having been furious with Woolf at the start for his clumsy attempt to recruit him behind his back, he now had a grudging respect for his staying power. He could also see how Mandler was between a rock and a hard place, knowing he would have to carry the can for a wayward investigation that stepped all over the toes of the other services and pissed off the Americans.

Mandler folded his glasses and slipped them into his top pocket. ‘I’ll have to go to the home secretary if we’re going to be turning over Vestey’s place without the Plod.’

‘Well? Can you?’

Tom felt his frustration with all this procedure getting the better of him.

‘All right. But if you draw a blank there, I’m shutting you down.’

He turned to Tom. ‘Sorry to be a killjoy, but these are hard times. Thanks, all.’

The meeting was over. Mandler was on his feet and heading for the door. Tom followed him out.

Halfway to his car, Tom caught up with him and put a hand on his shoulder to turn him round. Mandler stepped back abruptly as if he thought he was about to get a fist in his face.

‘Barely a week ago I was made to carry the can in Bastion. You fold on this, I’m going to be right back where I was, in the shit for sticking my neck out, but this time I’ll have the wrath of Rolt and Stutz to deal with, and after what I’ve seen of them, I don’t fancy my chances. You’ve got to come off the fence and get behind this. Woolf’s operating with one hand tied behind his back.’

Mandler sighed, as though the fight had gone out of him.

‘And there’s something else you need to know.’ Tom told him about the gift from the Cabinet Office in Stutz’s penthouse, and the photo of Clements.