I was on one side of her and the Chief Super was on the other. I saw the Chief Super gently touch Whitestone’s back, encouraging her, urging her on. And still she did not move.

From the time Whitestone had arrived at MIR-1 today she had seemed distracted, tired, as though her mind was still with her son in the hospital. But I brought her some serious coffee from the Bar Italia and by the time our MIT had assembled, she was more like her old self. Now she had suddenly blanked.

‘I’ve got it,’ I whispered, and took the microphone. ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m DC Max Wolfe of West End Central and I’m going to make a brief statement about our ongoing investigations and then take a few questions.’

Scarlet Bush stood up.

‘I wanted to ask you about the victims of the Hanging Club,’ she said.

I prised Whitestone’s statement from her hand. She glanced at me for a moment and then quickly fled the room.

I looked down at the words she had written:

I’m going to make a brief statement.

Scarlet Bush was still talking. ‘A child molester. A hit-and-run driver. A drug addict who put an old war hero in a coma. And now a hate preacher, popularly – and some would say deservedly – known as the Mental Mullah.’

I held my temper.

‘What’s your question?’

‘How does it feel to be hunting men who millions consider to be heroes?

‘Vigilantes are not heroes,’ I said. ‘Murderers are not heroes. Not in the eyes of the law.’

They were shouting questions at me now.

‘The law is there to protect everyone,’ I said.

‘Even pedlars of hate like Abu Din?’

‘Everyone. We will pursue the individuals who attempted to abduct Mr Din as vigorously as we would anyone else. That’s the way it works, folks. Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s the only way it can ever work.’

They were all shouting their questions at me now and I could feel a nervous Media Liaison Officer urging me to wind it up. But I maintained eye contact with Scarlet Bush.

‘Murderers are not heroes,’ I said.

‘Depends who they murder,’ she said, and they all laughed.

Whitestone was waiting for me in MIR-1.

‘Max,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’m happy to do it. I don’t care if they love me or not. I don’t care what they write. I’m beyond all that now.’

‘It’s not that,’ she said. ‘I saw him.’

I stared at her.

‘Who?’

‘Trey N’Dou. The Dog Town Boy who blinded my son. He lives a mile from us. Can you believe that? I saw him in the street. I will always see him. When my son comes home – he will be there.’

She started for the door.

‘Come,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you.’