‘The uniformed officer who was on duty in Abu Din’s street. I saw he had gone down when they took me away.’

‘Oh – PC Rocastle got shot with whatever taser knock-off they used on you,’ Whitestone said. ‘He’s shaken up. Nerve ends a bit scrambled. But he’ll live.’

The Chief Super nodded once. The debriefing was over.

Her voice stopped me at the door.

‘And one final matter, DC Wolfe,’ she said. ‘We’ve had an enquiry from the MoD about a misper.’

‘A missing person?’

‘Yes.’ She stared down at her notes, although I felt she did not really need to. ‘A Captain Jackson Rose,’ she said. ‘The MoD is anxious to contact him. We understand he’s a friend of yours and wondered if you knew of his whereabouts?’

‘Jackson was staying with me for a while. Then he left.’ I stared at them. Their faces gave nothing away. ‘Why does the MoD want to reach him?’ I asked.

‘That’s MoD business not Met business,’ the Chief Super said, a sudden frost in her voice. ‘Do you have any idea where Captain Rose might be?’

I thought of a beach hut by the English seaside where the water was freezing cold even in the middle of a blazing summer, and I thought of two boys who believed that they would be friends forever.

‘No,’ I said.

27

Tara Jones was standing outside New Scotland Yard.

There is an eternal flame in the lobby of New Scotland Yard, remembering the officers of the Metropolitan Police who died in the great wars of the twentieth century, and I paused by it to watch Tara Jones waiting out on the street.

Through the security fence I could see her standing by the revolving sign, a file in her hand, oblivious to the two young detectives who turned their heads to look back at her. She was one of those women who do not care very much about the effect they have on men. Or don’t care at all. I came through the revolving metal gates that let you out of the New Scotland Yard and walked up to her.

And it was only then that I realised that she was waiting for me.

‘They said you were dead,’ she said.

‘No.’

‘On the Internet.’

I smiled. ‘And it’s usually so reliable.’

She smiled back at me. We still had not touched.

‘Are you all right?’ she said.

‘Mustn’t grumble,’ I said. ‘I’m fine. Really. It all could have been a lot worse.’

‘I’ve got this for you.’

A double espresso from Starbucks. It’s the thought that counts. I took a sip.

‘Thank you.’

She shook her head. ‘Oh God, oh God.’

‘What?’

‘Your neck.’