‘Try to restrain your irritation at the twenty-first century, Skeffington,’ said Gabriel. ‘Where is he now?’

‘Unknown. A team’s gone over to his house, we’ve pulled his records and we’re fast-tracking his phone and bank details, all the usual.’

‘Anything of note?’

‘Not a lot, ma’am,’ said Skeffington. ‘Previous for public disorder and criminal damage, but sod all to link him to the NRF. But he’s got a DNA sample in the files – and it wasn’t his dabs on the petrol bomb fragment.’

‘That’s something at least. It means we’ve got leads for both Pall Mall attackers. What news on the familial DNA search of the other man?’

‘Also promising, ma’am,’ said Skeffington. ‘As of twenty minutes ago, they’d nabbed four samples from the male suspects. They’ve been fairly enterprising. One of the suspects was in the gym, so they pilfered his sports top. The rest are the usual – beer bottles, fag ends, spent tissues. Two results back already and both ruled out. Should have another three or four by the end of play today.’

‘And surveillance?’

‘Slower, ma’am,’ said Skeffington. ‘We’ve ruled out one old geezer – he’s been in a mobility scooter for the last two years. Officially it’s arthritis, but looking at pictures of the fat bastard, it could be laziness.’

Gabriel slurped from the mug. ‘We’re still left with eleven suspects at least. We need to prioritise them further. I’m assuming that you’ve looked for military connections in the extended family.’

Skeffington looked uncomfortable.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Skeffington, you’ve just told me that his associate Douglas Glenister was in the army. It’s the obvious call. Get on to it now.’

#

Twenty minutes later, Gabriel, Skeffington and Campbell were stood behind a DC, with the profiles of the DNA targets on the screen.

‘So how many are military?’ said Gabriel, shooting a withering look at Skeffington.

‘Two,’ said the DC. ‘A sixty-year-old former naval warrant officer, now living in Truro with wife and grown-up daughters. The other’s Rod Houghton, ex-SRR in London. A second cousin to the paedo in the nick. His house is under surveillance, but there’s no sign of him.’

‘SRR?’ asked Campbell.

‘Special Reconnaissance Regiment, Campbell. Jesus, man, get a grip,’ said Skeffington. ‘Special Forces. They’re the monkey’s bollocks – intelligence gathering, surveillance. Think Bravo Zero Zero. This Rod Houghton knows a sod of a lot more about dodging surveillance than you do, cockney.’

Gabriel stroked her chin. ‘Get more resources on those two – and a team into Rod Houghton’s house. He’s the best lead we’ve got. And Skeffington, sharpen up, man.’

She fumed. Was Skeffington her punishment for some sin in a previous life?

#

Chiswick, West London

Two figures stood in the back garden of Rod Houghton’s pebble-dashed house and peered through the kitchen window. The garden was quiet, the only sound the tick-tick alarm call of a robin watching from its perch on the creosoted fence.

The woman pulled out a card and metal pick from her pocket and prodded and teased the lock of the back door until it clicked open. The pair stood in silence for a moment before the woman gently pulled on the handle and stepped over the doorway.