My mind seemed to shut down for a time and I was only half aware of what was going on around me. I heard more than one person sobbing. I felt my own tears threaten, but I squeezed my eyes closed and fought them back.

Suddenly there was a burst of activity in the room. Phones started ringing. People started talking and moving. Drummond’s strident voice rose above the sounds, telling us all to stay calm.

Time appeared to stand still for a while, but a lot actually happened. Drummond dispatched himself to the crime scene in Clapham, this time with Tony Marsden in tow.

DCI Nash, who was a total wreck, was escorted out of the room by Warren and two support staffers. I had no idea where they were taking him.

Janet Dean sat beside me and broke down and someone switched on the TV monitors so that we heard that reports were coming in of another fatal shooting in London.

I just sat behind my desk as the anger and anxiety balled like a fist inside me. I was trying to decide what to do when the Commissioner himself suddenly appeared in the office.

John Saunders was a tall, lean man with a thin face and pinched features. He was meticulously dressed in his uniform and he immediately seized our attention.

‘DCS Drummond has appraised me of the situation by phone,’ he said. ‘He’s asked me to tell you that he’ll be back as soon as he’s spoken to the SOI in Clapham and checked the scene for himself. He’d like you all to stay here so that he can brief you on his return. I realise that this is a difficult time, but it’s essential that we hold it together and don’t weaken our resolve in response to these terrible events.’

To his credit the man didn’t retreat when questions were fired at him about what protection would be provided for the rest of us.

But instead of listening to his answers I reached for the phone on my desk. I wanted to know that Aidan was all right. I also had to tell him there had been another murder – and that I wouldn’t be coming home any time soon after all.

30

Slack

On the way to the office Slack tapped out a message on one of his burner phones.

Call me on this number

Five minutes later his mobile rang and he answered it.

‘Can you talk?’ he said.

The voice on the other end of the line was barely above a whisper.

‘I can now. I’ve been trying to contact you, Roy.’

‘I know, but I’ve been busy. Where are you now?’

‘At the Yard. Just outside the office.’

‘So tell me what you know about the Clapham killing.’

‘But surely you already know that the victim was the wife of one of the detectives. Everyone here is gutted.’