Michael Warren coughs and leans forward: ‘Noble’s a good man.’

Nothing, just waiting.

‘But there are already calls for outside help, a fresh perspective etc., so Angus is also going to announce the formation of a brains trust, a Super Squad if you like, to advise Noble’s team,’ continues Warren.

Nothing, waiting.

‘This Super Squad will be Leonard Curtis, Deputy Chief Constable, Thames Valley; William Meyers, the National Coordinator of the Regional Crime Squads; Commander Donald Lincoln, Sir John’s Deputy; Dr Stephen Tippet from the Forensic Science Service; and yourself.’

Waiting.

Sir John Reed lights a cigarette, exhales and says: ‘So what do you think now?’

I swallow: ‘We are to advise?’

‘Yes.’

‘For how long?’

Michael Warren says: Two or three weeks.’

Reed is staring at the end of his cigarette.

I say: ‘May I speak frankly?’

‘Of course,’ says Philip Evans.

‘As a public relations exercise I think we might have some success in diffusing the undoubted criticism the Yorkshire force is going to face over the next week but, as for any practical use we might have, I think we’ll be distinctly limited.’

The whole room is smiling, grey skins and red eyes shining.

‘Bravo,’ claps Sir John Reed.

‘We called you here today,’ says Evans, handing me a thick red ringbinder. ‘Because we would like you to head up a covert Home Office inquiry into these murders, working tinder the guise of this Super Squad. You’ll be able to handpick up to seven officers to work with you; based in Leeds, you will be reporting only to myself here in Whitby. Your brief is to review the case in its entirety, to highlight areas of concern, should any arise, to determine strategies, to pursue all avenues.’

‘And to catch the cunt,’ spits Reed.

I wait, eyes on the prize.

Philip Evans says: ‘Questions?’

Quietly: ‘Why covert?’