There were a dozen copies of her paper scattered across the workstations of MIR-1. In the end she had not goaded Bob the Butcher. There had been no references to sexual preference, childhood trauma or bed-wetting. She had stuck to Dr Stephen’s script. Bob was presented as a mixed-up homicidal maniac who was operating by his own rules (‘Honour, power and control are clearly motivating factors for this most complex of serial killers’) and choosing victims who were something less than totally innocent (‘It seems hardly a coincidence that Bob the Butcher selected as his targets a wealthy investment banker, a drug dealer and an inveterate bully’), and also as a slightly volatile folk hero to the dispossessed (‘These are horrible crimes, certainly – but they are also a cry of rage in a society where the obscene gap between rich and poor is the new apartheid’).

It was more of a press release than journalism. You could see why Bob the Butcher would want to cut it out and stick it in his scrapbook. It made him sound like a psycho Robin Hood.

‘He’s calling my paper’s switchboard some time over the next twenty-four hours,’ Bush said.

‘We’ve got call analytics set up on your switchboard,’ Gane said. ‘The longer you can keep him talking the better. But as soon as he calls we will have the number of whatever disposable or payphone he’s using. A landline or a mobile is too much to hope for. But it will give us more than we have right now. And when he gives you the meet you’re going to lead us to him.’

Mallory was still not happy.

‘I want you to have police protection from this moment on,’ he told Scarlet Bush. ‘I want two officers to escort you back to your office, and to accompany you to the meeting point, where we’ll be waiting.’

‘No chance,’ she said. ‘This is the most important story of my career and I am not going to let you screw it up for me.’

Mallory looked helplessly at Swire, who shrugged.

‘The meet is going to be surrounded with ARVs and SFOs,’ the chief super said. ‘There’s going to be enough Special Firearms Officers to keep her from harm. And I’m all for making sure we don’t frighten Bob away.’

‘Then I want officers in the room an hour before you arrive at the meet,’ Mallory told Bush. ‘And I want roadblocks at fifty metres, five hundred metres and a mile. And make sure you’re wearing the Kevlar.’

‘Bob cuts throats.’ Bush laughed, and for the first time I saw the raw courage in her. ‘What good is a stab-proof vest going to do me?’

Swire chuckled approvingly.

‘And I’ll tell you what I want,’ Bush added. ‘When I get to the meet I want to talk to him before you move in and arrest him.’

‘Five minutes,’ Mallory said.

‘Fuck that!’