‘I know. I am sorry,’ he says, only the squeak of his excessively shiny shoes betraying the fact he’s shifting from foot to foot. ‘But I’ve got less than an hour to make this meeting. My contact has to slip away and get back again before the briefing starts…’

‘Back up a moment, Thomas. Why is the Met reopening this can of worms so publicly? And now, out of nowhere?’

‘That’s why I need to get going,’ he says, now not even bothering to disguise his tap dancing. ‘Remember what I told you about this contact? We can’t talk by email or on the phone, it’s too sensitive, so I’ve really got to motor…’

‘Where is Dominic? Marie?’ I start as Olivia barks at me.

I’m suddenly miles away on the copydesk in Deptford, sifting through testimony that I already know backward, spell-checking court reports, absorbing allegations usually too horrific to bear. Charges amounting to a factory line of abuse, as military in its efficiency as the organisation it lived to serve.

‘He’s already at the Yard, or on his way back,’ I say, fumbling for the phone in my pocket. ‘He dropped me off first with the Salvation Army tapes so we could get on with the edit while he took Mary with him to get a response from the Met…’

I trail off, the bottom dropping out of my stomach as horror spreads across her face.

‘Shit,’ she says, licking her lips, eyes glittering, doll-perfect blush giving way to pale sheen. ‘Shit, shit, and double shit. This is going bury us … Dammit! All those institutionalised mistakes, all those monstrous allegations. This press conference better be more than just a squeak if it is going to change the record on Andromeda. And we are damn well going to point it out loud and clear if it doesn’t. Heaven only knows what they’ve come up with this time…’

The insides of the fridge clatter and smash as she repeatedly slams the door, cursing and screaming with every bang.

‘Pray tell me why are you still standing here, Thomas? Go and 69get me the inside track, won’t you? This isn’t the local rag. Do I really need to tell you twice?’

She fades as I slump against the coffee machine, pinging and pinging and pinging behind me. As quick as that, our trafficking story is on ice? We’re practically going to bury it ourselves. I’d click my fingers if they weren’t already numb.

‘And Marie! What are you waiting for? Last time I had the pleasure of renegotiating his contract, I do believe Dominic was still in the pay of this company as home affairs editor – who only knows why, mind you, if he can mismanage his relationship with the Met this catastrophically. Drop everything and get him back to the Yard immediately. And to this damn press conference!’