‘First thing in the morning.’ Bryant dragged out a much-folded map and pinned it on the crowded wall behind him. ‘I’ve already plotted our route, although this ordnance survey map was published before the war, so it may contain inaccuracies.’

‘Good God, it won’t have motorways marked if it was published in the forties.’

‘I meant before the Great War. 1907, actually.’

‘That’s no good,’ said May, ‘I’ll print something from the Internet.’

‘No, you won’t, the system’s down.’ Dan Banbury sauntered in, eating an iced bun. He always seemed to be eating or drinking. ‘Raymond told me the unit would be empty this week.’

‘He didn’t think to warn any of us,’ Bryant complained. ‘Anyone else here?’

‘Full complement,’ said Dan through a mouthful of sugared dough. ‘They’re milling around in the hall, waiting to be told what to do.’

DC Colin Bimsley came from a long line of spatially challenged law enforcers. Like his father and grandfather before him, it was enthusiasm rather than expertise that kept him in the field. Despite perforated eardrums, flat feet and an inner ear imbalance that found him periodically lying on his back, he was determined to bring honour to his family. On the plus side he had a heart of oak, being humane, decent and fair-minded, as strong as concrete and, barring the effects of an occasional self-inflicted head wound, quick to react. True, his brain sometimes lagged a little behind his body and his hand-eye coordination was virtually nonexistent, but to any woman who valued fidelity and reliability over smart-arse remarks, he was a godsend.

All of which made it even more unfathomable that DC Meera Mangeshkar could remain so stubbornly resistant to his charms. His compliments were greeted with sarcasm, and his attempts to lure her out for a drink were met with unforgiving dismissal. The diminutive Indian officer was ambitious and determined, hard in mind and body, and following a career path as preordained as a logic board. Bimsley’s shambling heroism impressed her no more than his offers to take her down Brick Lane for a curry with his mates. But they were shackled together now, sharing an office at the unit, and there was no alternative but to make the best of things. John May had planned it this way; he drew the best from staff by placing them in the proximity of opposites.

Wary of her threat to stick him with a harassment charge, Colin Bimsley entered the office quietly and began leafing through the week’s activity folders. Meera raised her head from her paperwork, regarding him suspiciously. ‘What?’ she asked finally.

‘I didn’t say anything.’ Bimsley looked startled. His fellow DC rarely instigated any conversation.

‘Exactly; you’re being too quiet. You’re up to something.’

‘I can’t win with you, can I?’ He sighed. ‘If I speak, you always tell me to shut up.’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t trust you.’