Without a word, Tucker pushed Lucy away from him and raised the .38 to his own left temple.

‘No!’ she shouted, spinning and hitting him in the solar plexus with her elbow, and with both hands clasped together in his throat. ‘You don’t get out of it that easily!’

The gun dropped as Tucker sagged to the ground, toppling forward in an agonised daze.

Lucy kicked the weapon away, and landed on his back with her knees. What little air she hadn’t driven out of him already, expelled with a tortured wheeze.

Panting, she looked up at Blake, who slowly lowered her weapon.

‘Detective Sergeant Tucker is under arrest, ma’am … on suspicion of robbery, conspiracy to murder, kidnapping, criminal use of firearms … you name it.’

‘I hear that, DC Clayburn.’

Blake holstered her Glock, lifted her visor, and stepped aside as a bunch of firearms men rushed forward to get him into a pair of plasti-cuffs. As they did, Lucy burrowed a hand into his pocket, to retrieve the keys to her own cuffs and then stepped away, freeing herself. Tucker didn’t look at either her or DI Blake when the arrest team hustled him to his feet. Instead, he walked away with head bowed and stumbling feet.

In the background, Harry had emerged from the BMW with his hands behind his head. He sank to his knees as more officers converged on him, shouting commands.

‘I also need to report, ma’am,’ Lucy said hastily, ‘that my mother is in that BMW. She’s suffering from a gunshot wound. She was shot by DS Tucker, with that weapon …’ She indicated the .38, which another firearms officer was making safe. ‘I don’t think it’s a serious wound. We’ve patched it up as best we can, but she’s lost a lot of blood and she’s none too communicative at present. We could do with getting her to hospital.’

Blake nodded, and relayed the message to the officers now pouring forward from the barricade. One went to the BMW with a first-aid bag; another called an ambulance.

‘Had to try something, Lucy,’ a voice said.

It was Harry; he too was now in cuffs and being hustled away, but he’d stopped alongside them.

‘All my time in this job, and I’m still treated like shit,’ he said.

‘Don’t make excuses, Harry,’ she replied. ‘It’s unbecoming.’

‘Easy for you to say that,’ he sneered. ‘In fact, it’s easy for you women full stop, isn’t it? What are you two, if not poster kids for the new police service? Young, hot, sharp as razors, educated, ultra-professional. Me, I’m just a fucking dinosaur. White, male, bit rough round the chops, always having to look over my shoulder in case I’m using inappropriate language and the wrong person’s listening.’

‘I said don’t make excuses.’