Pierce, Quinn and Hicks stand at the front of the room. Hicks leads the meeting and informs them that he and DS Quinn have questioned and charged Jamie Blackwell in the comfort of his hospital room.

A cheer fires up the energy in the incident room.

‘We couldn’t have done it without DI Archer,’ says Quinn.

‘Yes, there is that,’ replies Hicks.

Quinn takes over and summarises the facts to the team.

‘Jamie Blackwell aka @nonymous has been charged with the murders of Billy Perrin, Stan Buxton, Noel Tipping, Elaine Kelly, Megan Burchill, Chau Ho, Josef Olinski, Herman Olinski, Thomas Butler, Lewis Faulkner, Mike Hamilton, Ben Peters and Oliver Merrick. The latter two we found on Blackwell’s premises. Peters was the “hanged man” in a tank in the basement where Jordan Kelly was imprisoned. Merrick was in the boot of Blackwell’s car.’ Quinn pauses; the silence in the room is palpable. ‘Blackwell has also been charged with the attempted murders of Jordan Kelly and Detective Inspector Grace Archer.’

Archer feels all eyes in the room fall on her.

‘The trial date has yet to be set.’

Quinn looks to Archer.

‘Thank you, Harry. I’d also like to thank you all for your hard work. Without your support and persistence, we would not have caught Blackwell.’

As the team congratulate each other, Archer leans across to Quinn and Klara. ‘Fancy a drink?’

‘Like you wouldn’t believe,’ replies Quinn.

‘Count me in,’ says Klara.

They head to the Garrick on Charing Cross Road and sit on the high stools at the window with a pint of beer each, staring out quietly at the evening commuters.

‘Let’s not talk about the case,’ says Archer.

‘Fine by me,’ says Klara.

‘I’ll drink to that.’ Quinn raises his pint.

‘So how’re you doing?’

‘I’m OK.’

‘I’ve wanted to say for a while how sorry I am about your son.’

Quinn’s eyes slide to the passing pedestrians. He takes a sup of his beer. ‘Joshie passed away two years ago.’

‘Oh God. I’m sorry.’ Archer regrets bringing it up. She glances at Klara, who gives her a reassuring nod.

‘We were on holiday in Spain. We were at the beach on our first day. Joshie and Sophie, my ex, were paddling in the water laughing and having fun. Out of nowhere a rogue wave springs up and drags everyone within ten feet of the water’s edge into the sea. They were unable to swim against the undertow. Seven people drowned. Joshie was one of them. Sophie, too, but she was resuscitated. But, well, it was like she’d died too that day. We struggled for a while but, you know how it is with this job and everything. In the end, it was easier to make the break.’

‘I’m sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’

‘Sorry, Harry,’ adds Klara.