The image changes. It’s a close-up of the man’s head. It’s pixelated, blurry and only really his mouth and nose are visible, the hoody low enough to cover his eyes. But nonetheless it’s a partial face. Of the man who burned down my boat.

‘This is the man who torched my boat,’ I tell Beving.

‘Whoa, hang on a moment. I thought it was an accident, something electrical?’

I can’t believe he hadn’t heard. Then again I can’t actually remember who I’ve told about the fire investigator’s findings. Things have been a little blurry recently.

‘No, the fire was started deliberately. At least four ignition points.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says the fire investigator. I can’t remember his name, but he was adamant. He showed me them. No question, according to him.’

I don’t usually like weather metaphors, but Beving’s face really is like thunder.

‘And this is the man who did it?’ he says, stabbing his finger into the screen so hard the laptop moves.

‘Yeah, most likely.’

Or maybe a volcano is a better description, one that’s vibrating just before it explodes. Jesus. It makes me think of my own Volcano.

‘Rykel,’ he says, turning to face me, ‘we’ve had our differences, but this is not going to go unpunished. We are going to find this man and we are going to make this motherfucker pay.’

He gets on the phone, starts shouting orders, and in a matter of minutes has assigned four teams to comb the area starting on Bloemgracht and working outwards from there. Their brief is to find and requisition any CCTV, to question residents, business owners, tourists and anyone else they find in their path. They are to be a marauding army of righteousness; nothing is to stand in their way.

‘Get this photo to them,’ Beving instructs Roemers once he’s finished shouting orders down the phone.

‘Will do.’

As I leave, Beving reaches out and holds my arm. He looks right at me. ‘Don’t worry, Rykel,’ he says. ‘I will not let this stand. We are going to get him. I promise you that.’

I’ve clearly misjudged him. I always thought he was an asshole, but now, when it really matters, he’s putting aside our petty differences and pulling through for me. I nearly choke up and have to walk away. As I’m heading down the stairs back to the incident room I think how strange it is that kindness can be harder to take than hostility.