Archer sprints to their vehicle and scrambles through an untidy jumble of standard issue police equipment – forensic suits, an enforcer, cones, a torch. There’s no extinguisher, but there is a fire blanket. She unfurls it, runs back to the man from the building and throws it over his burning body. Both she and Quinn pat down, killing the flames. She is thankful to hear the sound of sirens approaching.

Police. Fire. Ambulance.

At last.

The paramedics waste no time in taking the badly burnt man to the nearest hospital, St George’s on Blackshaw Road. No one could survive that, Archer thinks, as she watches the ambulance charge away from the scene, its siren screaming for the roads ahead to clear. She wonders which of the brothers it is and tries not to think of the family portrait in Agata Olinski’s living room. Instead she clings to a fragment of hope that not all is lost for the poor man. A second vehicle – the death car – has arrived to remove the charred remains from the van. With two constables keeping passers-by at bay, Archer watches as the Fire Brigade finishes bringing both fires under control. The body is removed from the van and the Chief Fire Officer, a broad man called Flynn, approaches them and removes his helmet.

‘There was a lot of kerosene used on the body in the van and inside the office,’ he says.

‘Did you find anyone else inside?’ asks Archer.

‘We didn’t, fortunately.’

‘Small mercies. Thank you, Chief.’

‘We’ll get going, but two of my team will remain to check the building is safe for Forensics. I should stay out of that building if I were you. It’s not safe.’

‘We will,’ replies Archer, who has every intention of doing the opposite.

She returns to the boot of the car as Flynn and his crew leave, grabs the torch she spotted.

With the Chief Fire Officer gone, Archer addresses his two staff members. ‘The boss said we could have a quick look around.’ It is a small white lie, but one that could yield results.

One of the men replies, ‘Erm . . . I’m not sure—’

‘We won’t be long,’ Archer interrupts, and makes her way inside to avoid any negotiation.

The inside is black and reeks of damp ash. The walls and ceiling are sodden. Water drips and splashes into pools like dark mirrors scattered across the floor. The space is smaller than she expected, comprising a ten-by-ten room, a kitchenette and a toilet.

‘Someone evidently wanted this place wiped from the face of the Earth,’ comments Quinn.

‘By burning the evidence,’ agrees Archer.

‘Doesn’t seem to be the kind of place to put bodies inside large cabinets,’ says Quinn.

‘My thoughts exactly. Still, there were secrets here. Secrets possibly that the Olinskis knew nothing about.’

‘So you think they weren’t complicit?’