Langton flicked through the rest of her CV with less interest. Travis had moved quickly up to the Home Office’s High Potential Scheme. The list of attachments she had covered made him smile: robbery, burglary, CID, Community Safety Unit. About the only thing she hadn’t worked on yet was a murder team, though he noticed she had applied three times without success.

He was beginning to feel his age. Slightly depressed, he read on. The glowing recommendations from her superiors he took with a pinch of salt; he needed someone with street knowledge and initiative, not just an impressive CV. It was the last paragraph that seized his attention. He straightened up as he read the words: ‘Anna Travis is the daughter of the late Detective Chief Superintendent Jack Travis’. Langton started tapping the file thoughtfully with his pen: Jack Travis had been his mentor.

In the outside office, Mike Lewis answered the phone promptly. Then put his head through the open door of Langton’s room.

‘Gov?’

Langton looked up from his desk, distracted. ‘Who is it?’

‘Wouldn’t say. You want to take it or not?’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Langton, reaching for the phone. ‘Stay.’

Mike leafed through some paperwork while Langton spoke tersely: ‘How old? Who’s on it? OK, thanks. Get back to me. I appreciate it.’

Langton put the phone down. ‘Body just found on Clapham Common. I don’t think it fits with any of ours — she’s young, apparently — but they’re only just on the callout.’ He rocked back in his chair thoughtfully.

‘Mike, do you know DCI Hedges? Crew-cut, square head, and full of himself?’