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from my phone to the laptop and show it on the SmartBoard in the next hour. But for now, I’ve been to McDonalds,’ said Rosen. He opened the box. ‘I know what you all order so here it is. Tea and porridge, Carol Bellwood.’
    â€˜Thanks, David.’
    He took out a coffee and an egg McMuffin.
    â€˜The rest of you cave dwellers, sausage and egg McMuffins and coffee. Dive into the box. The cola’s for you, Professor Feldman.’
    Coffee and egg McMuffin in hand, Rosen wandered over to Baxter.
    â€˜I didn’t forget you, Tom.’ He handed the food and drink over to his senior.
    â€˜What are you having?’
    â€˜Sarah’s got me on a diet.’
    Baxter glanced at Rosen’s stomach.
    â€˜She’s got a good point.’ Never one to give away a compliment easily, Baxter unwrapped the food skilfully with one hand and picked his words. ‘That was. . . erm. . . decent of you, David.’
    With a nod, Baxter indicated the shared breakfast in the incident room.
    â€˜They’re going to be doing eighteen- to twenty-hour days for the foreseeable. It’s the very least I can do.’
    Baxter looked at the fast food as if was something new to him, but Rosen wasn’t fooled. Despite his occasional tales of his wife’s dinner parties and fine dining, Baxter was a fast foodie through and through.
    â€˜What’s the footage of?’ asked Baxter.
    â€˜Eat your breakfast first and then come and watch.’
    â€˜Why not show it now?’
    â€˜I need to set it up, but I also need time to test out an idea in my head – see if I think it’s strong enough to throw into the mix.’
    Baxter raised the muffin to his mouth but then stopped and said, ‘They’re banging the war drums at New Scotland Yard.’
    â€˜Because?’
    â€˜Not sure, David. But it’s to do with your current case. I’ve been summoned this morning by ACCs Telfer and Cotton. Thanks for the breakfast. I’ll eat in the office. Wish me well.’
    As Baxter shut the door, Rosen wandered back to his desk wondering what the morning ahead had in store. At his desk, there was one sausage McMuffin left and a medium Coke.
    He picked out DC Feldman from the crowd and said, ‘Hey, Mike Feldman.’
    Shyly, Feldman walked across and Rosen handed him the box. ‘Breakfast is served.’
    â€˜But I’ve already eaten.’
    â€˜Yes, I know you have.’
Because your mother’s a tyrant
, thought Rosen. ‘Do
me
a favour, Prof.’
Blend in for once
, he thought.
    Feldman said, ‘Thank you, boss.’ On the way back to his desk, Feldman took a noisy slurp of cola with the finesse of an eleven-year-old boy.
    Rosen sat at his desk and fired up his laptop. He opened his emails, and one jumped right out at him. Looking around the room, he saw Bellwood and called, ‘Carol, over here please, quickly.’

13
    8.35 A.M.
    A n email had arrived on Rosen’s computer, timed 8.32. Contacts sent to yr email.
    At his desk, he opened the email sent by John Glass’s PA. Bellwood was at his shoulder. Rosen looked across the room where Feldman and Gold, eating, were hunched over footage taken from Bannerman Square’s CCTV camera before it was trashed.
    He pointed to the email from Glass’s PA.
    DCI Rosen,
    As requested, please find enclosed by two attachments, contact details from John Glass’s personal and business databases.
    Julian Parker
    â€˜I’ll send it to you. Make a start please, Carol. Do you want support?’
    â€˜I’ll see how I get on by myself to begin with.’ And she was away, alert and energized by the challenge ahead.
    Carol sat at her desk and opened the attachment containing personal contacts. Scrolling down quickly, she made an initial estimate and then looked to Rosen’s desk, but he was on the other side of the incidentroom, his phone pressed to his ear, getting the low-down from Feldman on