On the day it began operating, John Saunders said, ‘The men who run these gangs are revolting creatures who prey on the weaknesses of others. They’re an ugly stain on this great city of ours and the job of this task force is to put them where they belong – behind bars.’

It was well past midnight now and the BBC were showing the last interview the man gave before setting off on his date with destiny.

The prick talked about the hunt for the female assassin on the motorbike, and he offered his condolences to the officer shot dead on Balham High Road. He even said that it was believed she was killing coppers on behalf of a gangster with a grudge against the Met.

Slack raised his glass of Scotch at the TV and said, ‘You were right about that, mate.’

The BBC then switched to an exterior shot of the Commissioner’s house and the camera swung up to show the hotel that overlooked it. The newsreader said that it was thought the sniper had fired from one of the rooms on an upper floor.

The location of the hotel had been a stroke of luck. Rosa had done well to seize on it. She’d shown great initiative, and he was full of admiration for the way she’d bounced back so spectacularly after the cock-up the night before in Balham.

It hadn’t been his intention to target the Commissioner. But it had struck him as a good idea after the bastard kept insisting that the task force would carry on with its operations. It was like saying you can kill as many of us as you want to but we will never let you win.

And that had been a big mistake on his part because it had seemed to Slack like a challenge – one that he’d felt compelled to respond to.

He chugged back more Scotch and let out an enormous burp. At that moment his landline rang for the umpteenth time. He knew it would be one of his people, calling to check that he was aware of what had happened or to ask him if he’d had anything to do with it.

The first few calls he had answered, but now he was no longer bothering to because talking to the lads took up too much time. He wanted some peace and quite so that he could wallow in the success of his mission.

After all, there was nothing more satisfying than revenge. The thought of how much pain he was inflicting on the Old Bill filled him with a warm glow. This was Retribution with a capital R. Payback with a capital P.

His old man would have been proud of him. And so would Julie. And he was sure that his only son Terry would have been lapping it up if the fuckers hadn’t gunned him down.