‘Cadaveric spasm,’ Mallory said. Smiling now, perhaps happy to show me that I hadn’t seen everything yet. That I hadn’t seen anything yet. ‘Instant rigor, caused by shock of sudden death, locking the body in its final second of life. That Pompeii moment. Can you make the pills out?’

I crouched by the corpse and peered at the label, trying to shut out the copper stink of his blood.

‘Zestoretic,’ I read. ‘Take one daily as directed. Prescription only. Made out to Mr Hugo Randolph Buck. Zestoretic?’

‘For hypertension,’ Mallory replied. ‘Blood pressure pills.’

‘He was a bit young to be taking blood pressure pills, wasn’t he?’ I said, standing up. ‘Must be a lot of stress working in banking.’

‘And more stress at home,’ Mallory added.

We stared at the dead man in silence.

‘Why didn’t they just shoot him?’ Mallory asked suddenly.

I looked at him. ‘The banker?’

‘The bomber,’ Mallory said. ‘Your bomber. The chief super panics. The surveillance officer freezes. Nobody’s sure if it’s the man they want. I understand all of that. Nobody wants Jean Charles de Menezes on their CV. Everyone’s jumpy because any fatal shooting has to go before an IPCC inquiry now. You’ve got the Crown Prosecution Service waiting in the wings. The human rights lawyers.’ Mallory smiled shyly, blue eyes twinkling. ‘But you confirmed a positive ID. You overruled the surveillance officer. It was your call. You had seen the man. Watched him. Followed him. Studied him. It was your career on the line. Your liberty. Why didn’t they shoot him?’

‘They can only shoot him in the head, sir,’ I said. ‘New rules of engagement. Everything else is too risky. Can’t shoot him in the torso because he could be wearing a vest. Can’t shoot him in the arms or legs because then he still has a chance to detonate whatever he’s carrying.’ I shrugged. ‘Maybe they didn’t feel confident they could get a clean head shot. Maybe they believed the SO and the chief super and not me. All I can say is, there was a genuine element of doubt. And maybe shooting a man in the head when there was an element of doubt seemed . . . rash.’

Mallory nodded. ‘And maybe we’re becoming afraid to do our job. How do you like this for a robbery?’

‘This wasn’t robbery,’ I said. ‘The Rolex on Mr Buck’s wrist has to be worth fifteen grand.’

‘Unless it was a robbery that was disturbed,’ Mallory said.

I looked beyond the banker’s door to the vast open-plan office.

‘This place must take some cleaning,’ I said.

‘All authorised personnel,’ Mallory said. ‘You can’t take a leak in this building without a laminated card and photo ID. We’re waiting for a translator so we can interview the cleaner who found Mr Buck. He’s fresh from Vilnius.’

‘I thought everyone spoke English now.’