‘He’s in ICU. The doctors seem to think he’ll be fine. He’s got some fight in him, they say.’

Archer swallows and closes her eyes. ‘That’s good,’ she replies in a hoarse whisper. She feels tears welling behind her eyelids and turns away from Pierce’s gaze. She gives herself a moment and asks, ‘Blackwell?’

‘Also in ICU and thankfully out of danger.’

Archer glances across at the reflection of her smaller self and feels her heartbeat increasing.

‘I want to interview him.’

‘You know I cannot allow that.’

‘Yes, you can.’

‘He tried to kill you, DI Archer. You had a prior relationship of some degree. There are protocols to adhere to.’

‘I need to do this.’

‘You’re not thinking rationally.’

‘Without me this case would not have been solved! Jamie Blackwell would still be stalking people in cafés looking for his next victims. The Met owes me.’

Pierce folds her arms.

‘Let me finish this,’ Archer implores, ‘I need closure, ma’am. I never got it with Bernard Morrice. I need it now. Give me this . . . please.’

Pierce sighs. ‘DI Archer . . . Grace . . .’

Archer levels her gaze at the DCI. ‘You owe me,’ she adds.

Pierce’s eyes flare. She knows how favourably the arrest of Jamie Blackwell will look for her career, but Archer senses she has overstepped the line. ‘This isn’t all about you, DI Archer. There are other people who have made a significant contribution to this investigation. This is about the team. We are a team.’

Archer looks away. She knows Pierce is right.

‘DS Quinn and DI Hicks will interview Blackwell. There’s nothing more I can do.’

An awkward silence hangs in the air, but is broken by the DCI. ‘I brought you these.’ Pierce sets the tote bag on the bed. ‘I thought it best not to talk to your grandad and ask for clothes. I didn’t want to worry him, so I brought some clothes of mine that I keep in the office in the event I have to work all night. You can borrow them, if you like. They’re clean.’

‘Thank you.’

Pierce shifts awkwardly on her feet. ‘Thank you, DI Archer . . . I mean that . . . and take whatever time you need.’

Chapter 53

53

ARCHER SLIPS INTO PIERCE’S CLOTHES, which comprise a dark grey fitted trouser suit and a navy blouse, both with an obscure designer name she has never heard of. They are stylish and functional, the type of power-suit worn by female execs in the City. Or well-paid DCIs. For the briefest of moments, she has the sense that she is someone else; someone ordinary, someone who hasn’t, for the second time in her life, escaped the most macabre of destinies.

She hears Quinn’s voice from beyond the curtain and beckons him inside.

He looks her up and down as if he doesn’t recognise her, but holds his tongue, which is oddly out of character for him.