*   *   *

Sefton had one and a half days of solid sleep. Joe took time off work to look after him. He woke with the smell of a natural, early autumn coming through the window. ‘The centre held,’ he said, his voice a croak.

‘What?’ Joe had entered the bedroom with two cups of tea.

‘You said that was what crime fiction was about.’

‘Did I? It’s W.B. Yeats.’

‘Okay.’

‘They’ve found the Ripper’s body,’ said Joe.

Sefton hadn’t managed to tell his boyfriend anything about the ending of the case before collapsing with exhaustion. Now he frowned, unable to process that. ‘What?’

‘Bloke dressed in the costume, left a suicide note, a full confession. All the murders were on Vincent’s orders, he hid among the ranks of the Toffs but he hated them, and when the guilt became too much he killed Vincent then himself. Nice handwriting, apparently. He includes details of the murders, which the police – not your lot – are saying indicates it must all be true.’

Sefton sipped his tea and could only shake his head again. He had no idea what that meant.

*   *   *

Three days later, Quill’s team sat in the Portakabin at Gipsy Hill, watching Quill put an X of black tape across the photo of Vincent on the Ops Board. They were silent, washed out, exhausted. Sefton hadn’t expected Ross to come, but she’d entered right on time at the start of her shift, here to do her duty or face the consequences of her actions. She hadn’t made eye contact with Costain, who hadn’t tried to speak to her. Sefton was even more surprised that he was here.

He’d last seen Ross when the two of them had found Quill in a Whitechapel pub that had a lock-in of shift workers going on. They were scared shitless of the chaos on the streets and glad to include coppers. Costain had already gone home; that had been a condition of Ross coming to see Quill. She’d stared at him then, unable to believe it, unable, Sefton now understood, having heard everything from Quill, to feel happy at his return. Sefton, on the other hand, feeling as if he was about to die and needing to fall asleep, had just taken Quill in his arms and hugged him. Quill had hugged him back. Ross had managed only a few halting words to Quill. She’d managed to say it was good he was alive, but it had sounded almost like a guess. Then she asked if she and Costain were going to prison. The two of them had, after all, kept information from the investigation, committed offences. Ross had also lied to them about what she’d found in the Docklands documents.

Quill had just shaken his head. He looked as perplexed at what had changed in her as much as she was at him. ‘Condemned man – me, that is – gets a last request, and I choose to let you off. We can’t afford to lose you. What you’ve done to each other, to yourselves…’ He looked at her interrogatively again, as if hoping she’d suddenly smile. ‘I think that’s punishment enough.’