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best of things, I got into work early. I had a filthy headache, which I refused to admit was a hangover. All I wanted was to sit quietly at my desk, sipping the vat of coffee I’d bought on the way in. I had yet to find a route that meant I didn’t pass a Starbucks on my journey to the office and sometimes I succumbed, even though I preferred to think of myself as the sort of person who would support small businesses rather than global coffee-pushers. When it came down to it, I just wanted caffeine, and lots of it, with absolutely no conversation on the side, to the point where I couldn’t even be bothered to correct the baristas when they mangled my name. That was why I was clutching a cup with ‘Maisy’ scrawled down the side. I had been ‘Midge’ and ‘May’ before, but ‘Maisy’ was a new one.
    The office was practically empty and I sat down at my desk, glad that I had a chance to get through some work before the phone started ringing and people – Derwent, mainly – started to make claims on my attention. His cutting little remark about not reading briefings had stayed with me. I resented it without being able to deny it, which made it worse.
    I didn’t get very far.
    ‘Maeve, could you come in here, please?’ Godley was standing in the doorway of his office, his expression stern.
    I jumped up and crossed the room on legs that were suddenly not quite steady. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or nervous to discover that Godley wasn’t alone. DCI Burt sat in one chair, and DS Harry Maitland in another. Burt looked exactly as normal: plain, abstracted, intense. Maitland’s usually cheerful face was serious.
    ‘What’s going on?’
    ‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’ Godley picked up his coat and began to put it on. ‘Another dead woman. Tottenham, this time. It looks as if Josh was right and we are looking for a serial killer. The Commissioner has asked me to get a task force up and running and I want you to be on it, Maeve. I’m not taking most of my team because I’ll be in overall command of the two current investigations and I’ll have about a hundred officers altogether. No sense in dragging everyone along.’ He picked up a folder. ‘Ready?’
    I was still processing the news that there was another murder. ‘How do we know this latest victim is connected? I mean, the timescale—’
    ‘Una can give you the details on the way. You can drive her. Harry, you’re coming with me.’
    I shot back to my desk and gathered up my things as the others headed for the lift. The four of us crowded in and I fought back a wave of claustrophobia, quickly succeeded by nausea. Maitland was wearing an ancient waxed jacket and it stank of dogs, cigarettes and its own linseed odour. I turned my head away and encountered DCI Burt, who was staring at me with keen interest. Her clever, pale face was scrubbed clean, and she smelled of nothing more glamorous than Pears soap. She was square, mid-forties and sweating slightly in a synthetic blouse she must have had for decades.
    ‘Are you all right?’
    ‘Fine.’ I tried to look alert, wishing I could think of something intelligent to say. ‘Same MO as the other two?’
    ‘So it seems,’ Godley said. ‘Glenn is meeting us there. He did the PMs on the other women, so he should be able to give us a better idea of what happened to her.’
    Fantastic , I thought. Glenn Hanshaw was prickly at the best of times. Being under pressure made him less helpful, not more. Godley got on with him well enough, but he was the only one who did. And Hanshaw seemed, for no reason that I could think of, to despise me.
    The lift doors slid open on the underground garage. It reeked of exhaust fumes. Godley’s Mercedes, sleek and black, was in pride of place nearest the lift. Maitland didn’t even try to hide how pleased he was about getting to ride in it.
    I picked up a set of keys to one of the pool cars and found the bay where it sat. It was a navy Ford Focus that looked unloved,