‘What particularly galls our friends isn’t just that their golden boy is a killer, but that the world believes he’s got away with it. If they can’t hush the whole thing up, which they can’t, then they want some kind of resolution-either his arrest and incarceration in one of their grubbier institutions, or, better still, proof of his innocence.’

‘Is that possible?’

‘Hardly, but you can’t blame them for hoping. The point is that after four months we haven’t been able to deliver on either option, which is a major embarrassment for the Met. So…’ Sharpe deliberately placed his cup in its saucer and sat back, fixing Brock with one of his scalpel stares, ‘… it’s been decided that we need a fresh approach. A new team.’

A move of desperation, Brock thought, not liking the sound of this one bit. ‘Superintendent Chivers has been leading the inquiry, hasn’t he?’

‘Dick Chivers, yes. The proposal is that he now hands the reins over to you.’

‘I see.’ Hell, Brock thought… a trail gone cold, all avenues exhausted, the press watching every move, bosses demanding miracles.

‘You sound less than thrilled.’

‘Chivers is a thorough detective. I doubt he’ll have overlooked much.’

‘There’s no suggestion that he has. In fact, I’m certain that he’s conducted himself impeccably. But without result. What the inquiry needs now is a fresh mind to rejuvenate it, and you have a reputation for coming out of left field and getting results. It’s not a criticism of Chivers, but it is an expression of confidence in you, Brock.’

Or of panic, Brock thought, but saw that he would have to make the best of it. He tried to look pleased. ‘Thank you, sir. When exactly is the prison due to be opened?’

‘Three weeks. The Palace will make a final decision on their involvement one week beforehand.’