The lead SOCO joined them, ripping off his purple gloves as he sat.

‘Fletcher dropped the knife when he fled the scene,’ he said, putting his stubby nose into the coffee and rejecting it. ‘It’s spring-assisted with a four-inch stainless steel blade. Could have bought it legally online for under twenty quid.’

‘No phone? No electronics?’ asked Campbell.

‘Not a thing.’

‘And no note?’ said Gabriel. ‘No helpful video to let us know why he jumped out of bed this morning and decided to murder seven people?’

‘Nothing, ma’am.’ The lead SOCO lifted his black case onto the table and gathered his papers.

‘Damned inconsiderate of him.’ Gabriel’s phone buzzed again. The Leeds accent told Gabriel it was DI Neville Skeffington, a man whose rise up the ranks astonished Gabriel. He was, in Gabriel’s view, full of bluster and bullshit.

‘I’m at Fletcher’s flat in South Croydon,’ said Skeffington. ‘SOCO have completed the initial search and there’s not much to go on. A lot of pamphlets, Nazi fanboy magazines and printouts from the internet about Islam. They’ve gutted his room, but no sign of a phone, no SIM card, and no laptop, tablet, PC – nothing.’

‘I’m not buying that,’ said Gabriel. ‘People like Fletcher are addicted to the internet. Take the flat apart – get a PolSA team in.’

In Gabriel’s experience, Police Search Adviser teams worked miracles. Last month, an Islamist cell based in a semi in West Ham had been sent down on the evidence from a SIM card the PolSA team discovered in a toy train at the bottom of a crate in a loft.

‘You sure it’s worth it, ma’am?’ said Skeffington.

That was so bloody typical of the man, thought Gabriel. The path of least resistance every time.

‘Not a debate, Skeffington.’

She ended the call and sat in silence. She stared at the wall opposite – a painting of a rabbit in a pinafore dress, dancing with a goose in red trousers while a band of beetles played instruments. How had they managed to make the goose look so creepy? He resembled an avian sex pest. Maybe it was the mood of the day, but she couldn’t imagine anything better designed to terrify toddlers.

There was something deeply wrong here, thought Gabriel, and not just with the paintings. Lone actors like Fletcher were usually predictable. On the whole, they were heavy internet users who wanted to go out in a hail of bullets with their final moments live-streamed online. Fletcher seemed different.

Campbell was on his phone, getting another update from the office. The video team would be scouring CCTV for Fletcher by now and pulling his financial records. But Gabriel was not optimistic. In this weather, on a bike, wearing an anonymous grey top, Fletcher could take days to identify. His photo had gone out to docks and ports and police across the south-east, but he could be anywhere in London by now. And surely Britain’s most wanted man – no matter how panicky or disturbed – would have the common sense not to use a bank card.