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‘You hit him?’ Doctor Lang asked.

Poe shook his head. ‘Superintendent Nightingale’s cops stopped me.’

‘And if they hadn’t been there, or if you’d managed to break free?’

‘I don’t know. Probably not.’

‘Do you think you were fully in control?’

‘I do.’

She picked up her plastic cup and studied his face as she finished the last of her cold tea.

‘So when you lunged at Joshua Meade it was all for show?’ she asked kindly, aware he’d walked into her trap, but not wanting to dwell on it.

‘OK, maybe I wasn’t fully in control.’

‘And by this time people were starting to realise you weren’t coping. Superintendent Nightingale had told you to go home several times. Tilly was so worried about you she’d called Estelle back from London. She refused to leave your side when you broke down that wall.’

‘I was upset,’ Poe admitted. ‘And yes, I would have assaulted Joshua if I hadn’t been held back, but I’m not sure that was what led to my nightmares.’

‘No?’

‘No. There was still worse to come.’

‘And we’ll get to that, no doubt. But right now I need you to describe what you saw when you stuck your head through the false wall in the basement, Washington. I need you to be able to remember it without being transported back there. I know you think it was a single, traumatic event that led to the PTSD you’re undoubtedly struggling with, but I think in your case it is more likely a cumulative effect. In other words, it doesn’t matter which straw it was, it’s the combined weight that broke the camel’s back.’

Which made sense to Poe. How much was too much? If you asked one hundred cops what the worst thing was about the job, they’d all tell you it was that there were never any good days. Being a cop was like having sewage drip-fed onto your psyche for thirty years. The only ones it didn’t affect were the sociopaths.

‘Cornelius must have erected the wall after Israel Cobb had been booted out of the Children of Job,’ Poe said. ‘Everything Cobb told me, everything he showed me, was accurate. If he’d known about the false wall, he’d have said.’

Doctor Lang leaned forwards and planted her elbows on the desk. She steepled her fingers and rested her chin on the bridge. ‘What was behind the wall, Washington?’ she asked softly.

Poe didn’t answer. For a moment he was lost in his memories, the sledgehammer on the floor where he’d thrown it, his fingers torn and bloodied from the rough, dry bricks he’d pulled out by hand. Bradshaw at his side, shining her iPhone torch through the gap he’d made, adding to the light of his torch.

‘What did you see?’ she asked again.

Poe shook his head. Tried to get back to the present. Found his mouth was dry. He picked up his empty cup and sucked the last dregs of tea. Licked the rim.

‘The chair,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘I saw the mercy chair.’