They arrive at the hospital. Jamie is rushed straight into A&E where he is given emergency treatment for formaldehyde exposure to his skin and eyes.

In the hospital bathroom Archer is standing at a sink in her jeans and bra, having just scrubbed the foul sickly chemical from her hands, clothes and boots with hand soap. An elderly woman with thin lips enters the bathroom and frowns at her.

‘Disgraceful,’ she hisses.

Archer ignores her and pulls on her shirt, which has damp spots where she’s tried to clean away the formaldehyde. Everything about the smell just reminds her of death and she wonders if it will ever leave her clothes.

Combing her damp dark hair with her fingers, she puts on her boots and coat, leaves the bathroom and heads to A&E.

She is troubled, something niggles at her like an itch from a phantom limb.

She sees a nurse sitting at the reception desk writing on a paper form.

‘Excuse me. I’m here for Jamie Blackwell.’

The nurse peers up from her work and regards Archer. She looks her up and down, taking in her dark hair and pea coat.

‘You’re her,’ she says in a thick West Indian accent.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You’re the police officer in the video. The one that rescued him.’

In the rush Archer has forgotten about the broadcast of the murders and the fact the world is still watching.

‘How is he?’ she asks.

‘He’ll be OK,’ replies the nurse. ‘We’ve cleaned him up and there is no damage to his skin or eyes. Luckily, exposure to the chemical was minimal. You broke him out just in time. I can’t imagine what must be going through his mind right now, what with watching those other two poor men die like that. It gives me the shivers just thinking about it.’

‘May I talk to him?’ asks Archer.

The nurse smiles kindly. ‘Of course you can. He has been asking for you.’

Jamie is lying on a bed behind a curtain in a tucked-away, dimly lit corner of the Casualty department. His head is turned to the side, his eyes are closed. She enters quietly and touches his forearm. His eyes flicker open. The whites glow red under the bedside lamp.

He can see the discomfort in her face.

‘The doctor says they’ll be back to normal in a few days. I hope so, considering the amount of cleaning they’ve just gone through. They might as well have taken them out and plopped them in salt water.’ He smiles, weakly.

‘How are you?’

‘Been better. It’s not every day someone tries to kill you in such a theatrical fashion.’ He reaches for her hand. She allows him to take it. ‘You saved my life, Detective Inspector Grace Archer.’

‘What happened?’ she asks.