‘You think it stops here?’ he said. ‘After you catch them? It will go on. They’ve lit a fire that will never go out until we have burned this nation clean.’

And suddenly I realised that I could smell him. The lifetime of cigarettes, and the cheap cologne he used to cover it. And it reminded me of another smell, of unfiltered Camels and Jimmy Choo perfume and Juicy Fruit chewing gum. And I suddenly laughed out loud.

‘There was a smell in the back of the van,’ I said to Whitestone. ‘It was a sickly-sweet smell. Like dead flowers. Like rotting fruit. Something foul that had been sugar-coated with something sweet.’ I stared at her. ‘And I know where it came from.’

‘What are you saying?’ Whitestone said.

I had let go of Professor Hitchens. I had forgotten all about him. But his smell – his stinking roll-ups and the buckets of cologne – had unlocked a door that had been closed to me. There was a rank smell of cigarettes, perfume and chewing gum behind that door.

I slapped my hand on the thick folder that Tara had given me.

‘Bring them in,’ I said. ‘Paul Warboys. Barry Wilder. And Philip Maldini.’

Whitestone and Edie exchanged a look.

‘The kid in the wheelchair?’ Whitestone said.

‘The three of them. And do it now. I’m not asking you to arrest them. I want them to come in voluntarily. But if they refuse, I want us to have the power to bring them in.’

‘And how do I do that?’ Whitestone said.

‘I want you to designate the three of them as significant witnesses. Warboys. Wilder. And Maldini. That would work, wouldn’t it?’

Whitestone shook her head, although it was doubt rather than denial. It was the responsibility of the SIO to identify significant witnesses, to record her decision in the investigations policy file and be prepared to justify why a witness was given SW status in court. If any or all of this blew up in someone’s face, it would not be my face. It would be the Senior Investigating Officer’s face.

‘Pat,’ I said. ‘I need you to trust me on this one.’

DCI Whitestone stared at me for a moment and then she nodded. ‘OK.’

Edie indicated Professor Hitchens. ‘What do we do with him, ma’am?’ she said.

‘Get him out of my sight,’ DCI Whitestone said.

An hour later the four members of our MIT were in the CCTV bunker of West End Central.

It was a darkened room where one large screen showed a grid revealing nine live CCTV images. Together they surrounded the block around 27 Savile Row. One camera showed West End Central’s underground car park. One camera looked north on Boyle Street. One camera looked south on Clifford Street. Three cameras looked out on Burlington Gardens. And three cameras surveyed Savile Row – looking north, looking south and looking directly down on the steps below the big blue lamp.