‘Get me as close as you can,’ she ordered the driver, who nodded and concentrated on the traffic. Driving high speed through any built-up area required a set of skills acquired by many months of training. The hazards were immense. Occasionally, an ambulance or squad car collided with a member of the public, and it made the news. It was horrific for all involved. Kelly held on tight, her adrenalin keeping her mind off such occurrences.

They arrived at the block of flats. It was four floors high and they were aiming for the third floor. The ARTs were already advancing from pre-planned positions, and Kelly could see a few residents back off in the opposite directions. Uniformed police from the advance squad cars were holding others back and asking them to keep to the perimeter, but as in all such situations, they didn’t have enough boots on the ground to make sure all civilians in the area were doing as they were told. It was quite obvious to anyone who had no criminal intention that the police were asking the public to follow simple instructions. Only have-a-go idiots and those involved might get in the way. So far, they were managing to keep the approaches clear and when the ARTs reached the third floor, all was deathly quiet.

Kelly’s phone buzzed and she reached for it, staying on the ground floor, waiting for the all-clear from the ARTs, who were seconds away from the door. The call was from Fabian Kennedy-Craig. She answered it.

‘George is in there with the girls, detective,’ he told her breathlessly. At first, she was puzzled and couldn’t quite work out what she was hearing. It seemed an alien call, but then she realised that he was talking about the flat they were headed directly to.

She shouted into her radio at the ART commander, telling him to pause. She ran to the front of the building and peered up at the balcony, watching as one ART came to a halt. Another was around the other side, and the third was on the stairs. In less than a second, she had to make her mind up over whether to send six heavily armed men into a potential hostage situation and face two dead teenagers, or rethink and strategise, calling off something that was in full momentum, and risk her reputation.

There was no contest.

The ART commander waited for her instructions. She spoke into her phone.

‘Talk to me, Fabian. I’m about to send armed officers into the address, are you telling me that George will harm the girls?’

‘Talk to him, detective.’

‘Talk? Fabian, have you any idea what I’m dealing with here? You have five seconds to convince me,’ she said. ‘And that’s before we even begin to talk about how you know he’s in there. And how the hell you know where I am.’