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possibility was that there was some way of opening the windows that our team hadn’t come across yet. If so, the numerous security experts we’d consulted hadn’t come across it either. Another was that the victims were wrong: they were misremembering, and had actually left the windows ajar without realising.
    The third possibility was that he was gaining access in some other way. But there were difficulties with that too. None of the five victims was missing house keys, and two of them had never even shared the property with anyone else. If the man had got in through a door, it would have to have been during the day, while they were out, because the sash jams and chains were on at night. That implied a whole different level of crazy, which was then compounded by the open window. Because if he could unlock a door somehow, why leave the house that way?
    As we reached the car, I pulled out my keys and pressed the security button. The vehicle flashed and clicked once.
    ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘Although it’s not that I’m grasping at straws. I’m playing devil’s advocate.’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Whatever. I’m driving, by the way.’
    We set off. I was still thinking about it, of course.
    ‘It can’t be the windows,’ I said eventually.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Because that would imply our man was playing a numbers game. A small number of people forget to close their windows, and he’s just opportunistic and lucky. But nobody’s that lucky.’
    Chris nodded. ‘Someone would have clocked him by now.’
    ‘Yeah, there’s that. And he’s not opportunistic, is he? These women are specific targets. He’s not fishing around at random.’
    He didn’t say anything, and I felt the frustration rising again. Because the terrible truth of the matter was that we simply didn’t know.
     
    Back at the department, I prepared myself for the incident room. Everything was quiet as we walked along the corridor, but as we got closer to the main suite, I began to hear it: the thrum of activity on the other side of the wall. It’s an old building, and the walls are thin. It was easy to imagine that if I put my hand on the one to the left, I’d feel the vibration and the heat. Directly outside the door, the noise within was audible.
    No pressure , I thought as I opened it.
    It was like walking into a concert that had already started. Over the last two and a half months, our case had graduated from a small-scale initial investigation to become the department’s primary concern; five victims in, we had every single available officer seconded to us, and the largest incident room in the building. Even so, with at least forty police working in here at any one time, it always felt crowded. There were even more here right now, crammed in along the walls and standing in the central aisle, all ready to receive the daily briefing and their updated action schedules.
    I sensed a number of eyes on us as we entered, then more and more as we eased our way through the throng. The noise abated slightly as people gradually realised that the main act had arrived. Pressing through, I noticed the heat most of all; the air had the particular warmth that comes from too many people being too close together, and every time I glanced around, I saw damp hair, beads of sweat on people’s foreheads. The desk fans were all on, but they weren’t accomplishing much.
    DCI Drake was leaning against the wall, close to the front of the room. Arms folded, face stern – no sweat on him, of course. For Drake, the production of sweat was something for other people to endure and worry about, and if they weren’t currently doing so, he could certainly help them with that.
    No pressure …
    The area at the far end of the room remained clear. It was a mini stage of sorts, raised only by a couple of inches, and there were numerous tales of unlucky detectives inadvertently face-planting on their way to a nervy presentation. No such disasters for Chris or me