The squad room, like the rest of the building, was painted a bland green and the carpet was cheap, thin and worn, but there was plenty of natural light entering through a row of large windows that looked out on to the front and rear of the building. The desks were old wooden ones with a locking drawer and side lockers, and each officer had some filing trays full of folders and paperwork.

She went to the ladies’ toilet, brushed her hair and tied it back, then using some damp tissues she managed to get some of the soot streaks off her jacket and skirt. She tried to get one of the marks off her white blouse, but it smudged and ended up looking worse, so she buttoned up her jacket to hide them. Her mouth felt dry and she went to the small kitchen area to get a glass of water, where she found Teflon making some toast and coffee. He was a handsome man in his early thirties, five feet ten inches tall, with short Afro hair and a smooth complexion. Although dressed casually in dark grey Farah slacks and a blue and white striped shirt, his clothes accentuated his slim body and he looked smart.

‘Would you like a coffee?’ he asked, with a friendly smile that was very welcome.

She smiled back. ‘No thanks, a glass of water’s fine, please. I’m Jane Tennison, we actually haven’t met yet.’

She put her hand out and he shook it with a firm grip.

He poured her a glass of water.

‘Pleased to meet you. I’m DC Lloyd Johnson, or Teflon as the team like to call me.’

‘Do you mind being called Teflon?’ she asked cautiously, unsure if “Teflon” was a reference to the colour of his skin. She knew that life as a black police officer could be tough, and sometimes it was easier to just deny the existence of racism if you wanted to be accepted by your white colleagues.

He looked surprised. ‘You think they call me Teflon ’cause I’m black?’

She blushed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean any offence . . .’

He laughed. ‘None taken. It’s because I was chasing a robbery suspect with a pickaxe handle and it slipped out of me hands when I swung it at him.’

‘Sorry, but I don’t get the analogy—’

‘It’s not that complicated. Teflon is non-stick, you see?’

‘OK, so nothing to do with your colour.’

He grinned. ‘If it was about me colour I’d hit them with a bloody pickaxe handle.’

The kitchen door opened, and Katie looked in.

‘DCI Murphy is wondering where you are. Get a move on as he wants to speak to you right now.’

Jane knew she was going to have to do something about Katie’s manner, but it wasn’t the time or place.

And besides, Katie had walked off before Jane could think of a suitable retort.