The sun made his shirt stick to his back, but even that inconvenience was not enough to put DC French off his stride. Today had been a good day—and it wasn’t over yet. Clive Mackie off the case, that emotionally derelict copper back in her box, and DCI Sampson—and now the on-call magistrate—approving his request for a search warrant. “This is a major manhunt, Your Honor. The public is terrified. It is imperative we leave no stone unturned. Imagine the outcry if we overlooked an obvious suspect.” Never mind that he’d over-egged not just the spoon, but the whole damn pudding. He grinned. Minor details. Lovell was as off as three-day-old fish.

He checked his phone. Less than an hour until he was supposed to hook up with some detective constable he barely knew. He’d texted him to say he was following up a lead in Leigh-on-Sea and would probably be late. Sometimes, a man needed to be alone.

Translation: he wanted to have a little fun before the others got here.

A seagull wheeled overhead, blowing in from the coast. French looked up at the sky. It was flat and blue with cigar-shaped clouds. The perfect day to fuck up someone’s life.

* * *

The curtains were drawn at 32 The Avenue, but DC French considered that to be an advantage. It meant that Lovell couldn’t see him coming.

Strictly speaking, he should wait until the rest of the team had arrived. He’d even dithered about delaying until tomorrow. His favorite kind of raids were the five-a.m.-ers, when suspects were pulled from their beds without warning, vulnerable with sleep, pale-faced and exposed. He got a kick out of rummaging through their dirty clothes baskets, seeking out worn clothing and potential DNA. Relished the penny-drop moment when the gawping idiot he was investigating realized he’d left it too late to destroy the evidence. Reveled in the power of having the upper hand over another human being.

And Sampson would frown on this. No question about it. But while French wasn’t one to play by the rules, he had no intention of being found out. This is what happened when you pissed off a police officer. And Lovell had pissed him off.

Plus, he wanted to catch him in the act.

But if he had planned to surprise Lovell, it was Lovell who surprised him. As if the old man had been waiting for French to return, the door opened before he could knock.

“You’re early.”

“I have a warrant to search these premises. If you’d like to step aside, please.” Admittedly, that last sentence was a bit unnecessary,

“Can I see it?” Lovell’s tone was mild. His hair was wet and he smelled of soap, as if he’d stepped out of the shower.