Moss glanced from face to face. “Yes,” he said. “No doubt you all know there’s no way we can keep this from the media forever. They’ll get hold of it eventually, if they haven’t already. It’s my job to make sure that nothing gets said to them by anyone involved unless it goes through me first. Am I clear?”

He was obviously enjoying his temporary power over such an eminent gathering, Banks could tell from the triumphant expression on his face and the undertones of evangelistic delivery in his speech. And Banks didn’t even know what “this” was yet.

“Mistakes have been made in the past,” Moss went on. “That business with the BBC cameras in position to film the raid on Cliff Richard’s home before Sir Cliff knew about the search himself, for example—and we don’t want any of that sort of behavior dogging our footsteps. As you know, the investigation into Sir Cliff was dropped, and Paul Gambaccini had some harsh words to say about the way he was treated by the police. We’ve ended up with egg on our faces often enough, and we have to make sure that doesn’t happen this time. When the media do come knocking, as they will, we want everything calm and by the book. Nothing they can get between their teeth and run with. Naturally, celebrities are of interest to them, and celebrity misdeeds are manna for them. We not only have to prosecute this, we need to be seen to prosecute it. It won’t take them long to get their nibs sharpened. I can tell you now, there’s a media shitstorm due in the near future. My job, ladies and gentlemen, is to manage the flow of information, and to do that I will need the cooperation of all of you. Everything goes through the press office. Is that clear?” He had a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he scanned the room. Most of those present beamed back at him. Moss was one of the chief constable’s and the police commissioner’s golden boys. Now that the brass seemed far more concerned with publicity and image, people like him were more important to them than detectives, Banks thought. Burgess was the only one to appear unimpressed, the beginnings of that characteristic cynical, seen-it-all smile appearing in the twist of his lips.

“Thank you, Adrian,” said the chief constable. “Now we all know where we stand, let’s get down to brass tacks. You are here because from now on you’re going to be working together in one capacity or another on the same case. Assistant Chief Constable McLaughlin will enlighten you.”

Red Ron cleared his throat and shuffled his papers. “You’re here because we’re going to be conducting an investigation into Danny Caxton,” he said, pausing for a moment to let the name sink in.