He remained blank, unemotional. But now there was something else there, an additional iciness as he appraised her. Lucy could tell that she’d finally angered him.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘one of the things that strong, independent women like you haven’t bargained for in this age of equal opportunities is that if you’re going to behave like men, you must expect to be treated like men … Detective Constable Clayburn of Crowley CID.’

‘That’s right, sir …’ She drew courage from a flickering blue light suddenly reflecting into the waiting area. ‘I told you who I am and where I can be found in the full knowledge you’d remember it very well. Which ought to indicate how much I think your threats are worth.’

‘Really?’

‘You’re not untouchable, yourself, sir. Mr McCracken is the living proof. But I’ll tell you something … if it was down to me, I would step aside. Neither would I bother pursuing the guy who pulled the trigger on your friend. Because to me you’re all the same …’ And now she couldn’t help herself, all the pent-up frustration, rage and disappointment at the way both her professional and her emotional lives had gone in the last two years pouring out like bile. ‘You people are vermin dressed in three-piece suits. A bunch of rodents fattening yourselves off the backs of those who actually work for a living. I’d like nothing better than to see you tear each other to pieces. I’d pay to watch that. But unfortunately, I value my job more than I value your deaths. So as much as it pains me, Mr Pentecost, sir, I’m not going to move away from this post, and you are going nowhere –’ she gestured with the scalpel ‘– except back through that door. Right bloody now.’

Before Pentecost or any of his mob could respond, several figures appeared behind the glass door. The one at the front was Stan Beardmore. Nurse Reynoldson, seeing that help was finally here, broke abruptly from her trance, slammed the mugs down onto her desk, coffee shooting everywhere, and hurried around it, crossing the corridor at speed, hitting the buzzer with her fist.

Beardmore burst in, followed by Dave Baker, PCs Tooley and Brentwood, and a couple of other uniforms who’d only just arrived. Even the DI blanched a little at the sight of Bill Pentecost and his heavies, but the balance of power had shifted. The gangster tried to look as if none of this mattered, but visibly tensed as the coppers circled around them.

‘Everything all right, DC Clayburn?’ Beardmore said, standing alongside Lucy, the rest of the officers lined up behind him in a phalanx.

‘Certainly is, sir,’ she said. ‘Mr Pentecost and his friends were just leaving.’

Pentecost returned Beardmore’s gaze with blood-freezing intensity.