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‘I’d answer him if I were you, Diane,’ Flynn said as she rifled through the letters she’d just been handed. ‘This is DS Poe, and you’d better believe he’s not going to take your shit.’

Instead Diane smirked and said, ‘Deputy Director Hanson is waiting for you in your office.’

‘Is he now?’ she sighed. ‘You’d better stay out of his way, Poe. He still blames you for not getting the director’s job.’

Hanson had never taken responsibility for his own failings. Not being promoted had to be either someone’s fault or part of a wider conspiracy against him. That he’d backed Talbot in the Peyton Williams case was neither here nor there. ‘Glad to,’ Poe replied.

Flynn turned to Diane. ‘Go and get DS Poe a cup of coffee. Do that and he’ll be your friend for life.’

Poe and Diane looked at each other. Both doubted that, but Poe was in no mood for a fight this early. Flynn went off to see Hanson and Diane led Poe across the open-plan office to the kitchen area. As she poured him some filter coffee, Poe surveyed the office he used to manage.

Things had changed. When he’d been the detective inspector, the tables were arranged depending on wherever people fancied sitting that day, and because of inter-office politics, the office layout was constantly changing. Even though he’d known that had irritated Flynn, he hadn’t intervened. If she’d wanted order, she could have put her sergeant’s stripes to use.

But now, with her inspector’s pip, she’d decided to use her management authority. Analysts, some of whom he recognised, most of whom he didn’t, were seated around an ordered central hub. It acted as the centre of a wheel, with offices and specialist pods forming the spokes. It wasn’t quite a cubicle farm but it wasn’t far off. There was a low hum of noise; muffled phone conversations, the clack of keyboards and the shuffle of paperwork. Despite it being early, no one was eating breakfast at their desks. That had been another thing that had made Flynn’s bile bubble: people arriving at work then spending thirty minutes making porridge.

SCAS might have been functioning professionally and efficiently but, to Poe, it had about as much charm as an out-of-office email. If he were forced to spend time there, he knew that within an hour he’d be using the word ‘fuck’ like a comma.

At least his large map of the United Kingdom was still there. Poe wandered over and scanned it. It dominate

d the wall. Different colour markers, laid over it like weather patterns, indicated where the various crimes were on their radar. If the colours were the same, it suggested there was enough evidence that the crimes might be linked. Analysts were constantly scanning the media and crime reports from the territorial forces, looking for patterns and anomalies. Part of what SCAS did was crying wolf – seeing patterns and letting police forces know they might have a serial rapist or murderer. Most of the time they were wrong.

Sometimes they were right.

There were three red markers in Cumbria; the Immolation Man was being worked hard.

A hush rippled across the room as people began to realise who had walked in with the boss. Poe heard his name being whispered. He ignored it. He hated being the centre of attention but he knew he was a cause célèbre. Not just because his name had been carved into the chest of a man sleeping in a cold bed at Carlisle’s mortuary, but also because of the way he’d run the unit when he was in charge.

And the way he’d left; he shouldn’t forget that.

The silence was broken by muffled shouting. It was coming from his old office, technically Flynn’s office now. Poe wandered over.

Although most of the shouting was indistinct, Poe heard his name every now and then. He opened the door and eased inside.

Hanson leaned over Flynn’s desk. Both his hands were planted knuckles down on the wood.

‘I told you, Flynn, I don’t care what the director said, you shouldn’t have reinstated him.’

Flynn was taking it calmly. ‘Technically Director van Zyl reinstated him, not me.’

Hanson stood up. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Flynn.’

Poe coughed.

Hanson turned. ‘Poe,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise you’d travelled back with DI Flynn.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ Poe said.

Hanson ignored his outstretched hand.

Poe knew he should care that the deputy despised him, but he found not giving a shit was far easier. When you didn’t care about your job, the people in authority quickly realised just how little power they had.

‘Smile all you want, Poe. Van Zyl’s made a mistake reappointing you. You’ll fuck up again and he’ll go the same way as the last director.’ He turned to Flynn. ‘And when he’s gone there are going to be some big changes around here, DI Flynn.’

Without a further word, he left the office. King of the token gesture, he couldn’t resist slamming the door.

Flynn had arranged a meeting with Human Resources; the sooner Poe could be formally reinstated, the sooner they could both get back up to Cumbria. A senior HR officer was on his way down to the SCAS building. They took a seat at the small conference table and waited.

Poe took the time to look at what Flynn had done with his old office. Before he’d sneaked in, he’d noticed the highly polished brass plate with Flynn’s name. Poe had had a sheet of A4 with his details written in flip-board marker pen. Blue, if he remembered correctly.