‘We’ve checked all the major bridges for silver,’ said Costain, ‘and haven’t found anything. If we can find this car, the interior should be covered in it.’

‘We went straight to where the body was found,’ said Sefton. ‘Everything Jimmy had on him – phone, wallet, notebook and so on – was missing from the body, which might be designed to make this look like a robbery—’

‘But of course it isn’t,’ finished Costain.

‘You will have everything you need,’ said Lofthouse. ‘Even when the strike starts at noon tomorrow there are plenty in the Met that’ll still turn out for Jimmy Quill.’ Quill’s death was all over the media. The Ripper had struck at the heart of the establishment again. As if Jimmy was just that, a shape for a story. Lofthouse had provided what she’d called the usual quotes. ‘Jason Forrest sends his deepest condolences. He says he knew something was wrong when James was late for a pint. The main investigation team are now busy looking into connections between him and the other victims.’

‘Good luck with that,’ said Sefton. He wanted the Ops Board in front of him right now, wanted Quill to be standing beside it too, but he couldn’t see what good it or anything else could do. ‘I followed the pattern of those flash mobs on Twitter. The original tweets about them are from a variety of accounts, but they all use similar language. The first one of them always said something’s about to happen in a particular place – where Jimmy was – and then, minutes later, Toffs from nearby started arriving, ready for action. Nothing impossible about the distances travelled, and it might have been harder to do if it had been a weekday lunchtime, but it’s definitely a phenomenon. And I think whoever was sending the tweets must have known where Jimmy was, must have been trying to provide cover for the attack, at least at the start, and on the occasions when the Ripper found him again.’ He remembered the sound of Quill’s voice on the other end of the phone, the desperation.

‘I’ve put in a new Data Protection Act request asking for account information about the tweets,’ said Sefton, ‘but with the DPA backlog and the strike, I don’t know how long that’ll take.’

‘All right.’ Lofthouse closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, as if willing herself to keep going. ‘You’re our only hope of catching this thing that killed James. I doubt I have to give you a motivational speech about doing that.’

‘No, ma’am,’ whispered Costain.

‘And if you do catch the Ripper, things might get better, am I correct?’

‘That’s the hope we’ve been given,’ said Sefton.