She breathed deeply. Why did the dead have the unerring knack of popping up when least wanted? She couldn’t afford to be dwelling on this now. Save the past for later. Her palms were sweaty. Her chest was getting tight. This was rubbish. Come on.

She took a third deep breath. ‘Zahra, I’m so sorry for your loss. We don’t know why that man did what he did. We may never know. But what we do know is that he represents a sickness, but it’s a rare sickness, and a sickness that we will do everything in our powers to wipe out from society. These people want to create fear, discord and distrust. And we’ll do everything we can to stand up to them. And to get you home safely. Our liaison team will be there to support you – and look out for you. And we will get justice for your mother and brother.’

The girl said nothing.

#

Life hangs on such a narrow thread, thought Gabriel as she walked out of the ladies. Trivial decisions in a fairground queue or in an ops room have life-changing and life-ending implications. But why had that been so tough? She’d done plenty of death speeches before. Why had she needed to steady herself in the loo?

‘That was good, ma’am,’ said Campbell. There was a hint of multicultural London English in there, thought Gabriel, but it was still mostly old-school Estuary.

‘You’re right. Best pee I’ve ever had, Campbell, but not really any of your concern,’ said Gabriel.

Campbell looked flummoxed for a second. ‘I meant the words. What you said.’

Gabriel half-smiled grimly but said nothing. They were walking along a concrete path scoured with lines to create the illusion of paving. Waste bins on either side were overflowing with burger boxes.

What had just happened? A panic attack? No. She didn’t have those. So, what was it? A wobble? A tug on memories that she’d dealt with long ago?

She’d spent the first half hour of the day, before getting the call to Chilton Park, on her weekly review into the whereabouts of Abu Mujahid, so perhaps she had unwittingly dredged up something from her subconscious. But that was ridiculous. She looked at Campbell – he hadn’t spotted anything out of place.

‘I can’t imagine a more miserable way to spend a day than at a place like this,’ said Gabriel, looking round at the silent rides. ‘You got kids?’

‘Two boys, ma’am. Seven and nine. They love these places.’

‘I get why kids like it; they don’t know any better. But grown-ups? Surely there’s a better way to spend a wet Wednesday than queuing an hour for thirty seconds of vomit inducement? When did adults stop growing up?’

The question was rhetorical.

‘What’s your take on Fletcher? A lone actor?’ Gabriel asked.

‘Think so, ma’am.’

‘And you’re one hundred per cent sure this was a racist attack?’ she said.

‘Ninety-nine per cent,’ said Campbell. ‘Thirty people were on that coaster and Fletcher singled out ten. All were Asian or black, almost all were Muslim. He’s walked past ten white people, maybe more, and ignored them.’