As they wound their way back through traffic, Porter tried to make sense of what he knew so far. It was distasteful, but sadly all too common in his line of work, to come across parents that harmed their children, either physically or emotionally. If Nathan Barclay had indeed been responsible for severing his daughter’s hand, why would he place it in the freezer to preserve it before taking his own life? Was it as clichéd as him not being able to live with something he had done, but equally wanting to take responsibility for it, albeit making sure he wasn’t around to face the consequences of his actions? Porter always tried to see things from the perspective of those who perpetrated the crimes he investigated. It reminded him of a quote he’d once read from the Chinese general and author of The Art of War, Sun Tzu, who counselled people to ‘know thyself, know thy enemy’. The idea of spending too much time trying to inhabit the same dark places as a man who would harm his own child, however, was far from Porter’s idea of fun. It was necessary sometimes, though, to let a case steer you towards that fine line that separated dark thought and darker deed from those of us who abide by the rules.

He’d seen evil take on many faces, here on the streets of London, and on his tours of duty overseas with the army. In the here and now, his gut told him that face was taking the form of Nathan Barclay. Whether Mary or Gavin Locke had already known that to be the case remained to be seen.

They went for the divide and conquer approach back at the station, Styles calling the coroner to get a copy of the report on Nathan Barclay, while Porter dug through the archives to unearth any information from the original investigation into Barclay’s death. Styles completed his task first and left the copy with Porter on his way out to meet his wife for dinner. He’d offered to stay and help review the file, but Porter waved him away.

The coroner’s report held no surprises. Nathan Barclay had died from a single gunshot wound to the head. The bullet had come from an old Walther P38 that was found at the scene three feet from Barclay’s outstretched hand, with his prints on the grip. The body had been discovered in an office at a warehouse owned by Atlas Holdings when a security guard doing his rounds stumbled across it. There had been no other injuries and no evidence to suggest it had been anything other than the last act of a deeply troubled man. He had left a note at the scene, a handwritten sheet of lined A4 paper. Porter put the rest of the file down on his desk and studied the copy of the note.