“An understatement. A public relations nightmare in the making, to be more accurate, especially with an important by-election coming up. Not to mention that the loss adjusters are already sniffing round and muttering about possible insurance fraud. And I’ve heard rumors from other quarters – one of my golfing mates who’s in the property market – that Yarwood hasn’t had the early interest in his leases that he expected.”

“Ouch.” Kincaid winced. “So he might have a very costly boat anchor on his hands – or he did until last night.”

“Not that he’d admit it. But the powers-that-be are worried enough that someone from Number Ten rang the assistant commissioner and called in a favor.”

“And that’s where I come into it?” Kincaid said, enlightenment dawning.

“The word is, they only want to be sure the investigation is given high priority-”

“Meaning they want to be sure Yarwood’s interests are well represented.” Kincaid weighed the prospect of taking on such a politically sensitive case against going back to his performance reviews. It could prove messy, both literally and figuratively. He hated self-important politicians, and fire scenes had always given him a bit of the creeps.

“You can refuse, of course,” said Childs, with a deceptive gentleness Kincaid recognized. Not only did Childs want him on the investigation, he knew that Kincaid could use the good mark in the AC’s book.

“Is the body still in situ?” Kincaid asked.

Childs permitted himself another small smile. “I told them to wait for you.”

2

“But let him look at me, in prison, and in bonds here. I endure without murmuring, because it is appointed that I shall so make reparation for my sins.”

CHARLES DICKENS

Little Dorrit

THE REVEREND WINIFRED CATESBY MONTFORT was finding it more difficult than she’d expected to adjust to life in London. After the past few years at her country church outside Glastonbury, the concrete and grime of urban South London seemed a barren landscape to a soul parched for the gentle spread of green across the Somerset Levels.