The resentment that had been growing since she had come in here to read the file was growing. Sod it. She needed to talk to Tennant. He was still upstairs – she’d passed him in the cafe earlier.

#

‘Sophie?’ He looked up from his laptop.

‘Abu Mujahid.’ Her face was blank, her voice calm.

‘For God’s sake, don’t start this again,’ said Tennant.

‘He’s back.’

‘So you’ve told me. And I thought I’d made it abundantly clear, I didn’t want you chasing ghosts.’

‘No, sir. He’s back.’

Her voice calm and steady, she updated him on the Sergeant Jones interview and Sainsbury’s video. Tennant leant back and sucked his top teeth, studying her face. His face was icy, defensive. ‘And what? You’ve come to tell me you told me so?’

‘We knew he was here a week ago. We could have done something. We’ve thrown away seven days.’

Tennant stood up. ‘You had a hunch – a guess that turned out to be lucky with the benefit of hindsight. There was no way of knowing it was him.’

‘That’s bollocks, sir, utter bollocks. We had plenty of evidence – you chose not to see it, you chose not to take my professional judgement on board.’

‘Your judgement about Abu Mujahid is anything but professional, Detective Superintendent,’ snapped Tennant.

‘With all due respect, sir, I know him better than anyone.’ She was shouting now. ‘And if I tell you that he’s in the country, then surely you take that seriously.’

‘Lower your voice, Detective Superintendent.’ Tennant’s face was flushed. He took a breath. ‘Listen, Sophie, I get that you’re frustrated—’

‘No, you don’t get it. You are missing the point here.’

‘I get that you’re frustrated. But the call I made last week was the right one.’

‘How can you stand there and say that? We’ve given him a week to do God knows what.’

‘The call I made was the right one based on the data we had at the time. Come on, Sophie. You’ve been doing this job long enough to know there are no right and wrong decisions in this shit, you know that more than most. There are just decisions. You take them, you do the best and you move on. Sometimes there are no choices. Hindsight doesn’t change that.’

‘And sometimes those choices are still wrong, sir.’

She turned on her heels and marched out. She was too angry to regret the words. That would come later. Now, she needed some fresh air.

She ignored the lifts and bounded down the fire stairs to the lobby and to the street.

DAY 13

Monday

University of Islington, North London

‘Mrs Asad, please speak more slowly.’ The Islington university welfare officer pushed the handset harder into her ear.

‘My son. Omar. He should have come home on Thursday, but he didn’t. He’s not answered his phone in days. We’re very worried about him.’

The woman sighed inwardly. It sounded like another pushy parent trying to run their kid’s life on remote control. ‘Okay, Mrs Asad, please let me have your son’s name.’