The office phoned buzzed. ‘The Deputy Prime Minister, sir,’ said the switchboard operator.

‘Deputy Prime Minister. What can I do for you?’

‘I’ll tell you what you can do, Mr Tennant,’ said Lesley Hogarth. ‘You can get those idiots away from my front door. They’ve been here two hours and do you know what they are shouting? White supremacist. If that’s not threatening behaviour, then I don’t know what is. Get them removed.’

‘Deputy Prime Minister, I appreciate this is a serious annoyance, but the officer at the scene has assessed the protest and says there’s no public order threat or other crime. It may be offensive, but not an offence.’

‘Don’t try to be flippant with me, Mr Tennant. I’m being harassed. That ghastly man Sherif is there too, stirring things up. If they were protesters outside a mosque, you’d be down on them like a ton of shit. I am fed up with these double standards…’ She carried on for thirty seconds and slammed down the phone.

So much for the party of law and common decency, thought Tennant. He had some sympathies though. Ishmail Sherif was not a man he would like on his own doorstep.

#

Gabriel picked up the phone to call Tennant, toying with the handset in hesitation. She was certain she was right about the letters in the video file. But would Tennant think she was clutching at straws? She dialled with a sudden determination. Yet when he answered, she held back from sharing her conviction immediately. Instead, she filled him in on the latest in the manhunt.

‘I take it you saw the press conference?’ he said when she was done.

‘Yep,’ said Gabriel hesitantly. ‘You reckon the press are going to make this personal?’

‘Maybe. You know my motto – feed the monster. Dangle new leads where you can, be honest where you can, and treat them like you would treat toddlers. Distract them, remember they have an attention span of five minutes and try never to take it personally. But that’s easier said than done.’

That’s an understatement, thought Gabriel. She had experienced a couple of weeks of unwanted media attention over Isobel Harris, but the media’s interest in Tennant had lasted years. His crime was not that he was too liberal – there were plenty of other senior officers who fitted that label. What made him stand out, and what had attracted the eye of the Daily Herald, was his relationship with Chris, a left-leaning theatre director. It started with an innocuous photograph. Tennant had attended the launch of Chris’s play – and reluctantly gone with him afterwards to the after-party at a Soho club. The unlikely appearance of a senior Met officer on the arm of his partner amid the stage glitterati had made the front page of the Herald and, sensing it was on to a good thing, the paper began a sniping campaign against Tennant. It was where the ‘PC PC’ nickname had originated.

Gabriel had been with the Directorate of Professional Standards at the time – and was part of the unit called in when it became clear that the Herald had the inside track on Tennant’s movements and decisions. The DPS quickly identified the source of the leaks – a disgruntled PA working in Tennant’s office. But to Gabriel’s astonishment, the deputy commissioner – a shrew-like man with one eye on the top job – instructed the DPS not to tell Tennant in case it jeopardised the investigation. To Gabriel, it seemed an extraordinary decision that put Tennant in a terrible position and she suspected an ulterior motive.