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‘Why don’t you like Linus, Poe?’ Bradshaw said when they were inside the outer cordon and out of earshot.

‘Because I don’t trust him, Tilly.’

‘I thought you said he was an intern?’ Nightingale said. ‘What’s not to trust? You tell them to fetch your dry cleaning, they fetch your dry cleaning. You want a coffee, they get you a coffee. Unless The Devil Wears Prada was total bullshit.’

‘What’s that?’ Poe said.

Nightingale grinned. ‘You still don’t have a television then?’

Poe told her about the audit and the supposed reasons behind it.

‘But the case we had two summers ago was rooted in terrorism, surely?’ Nightingale said. ‘I remember all the arrests that followed. The main players were all convicted under Terrorism Act offences. And the reason I know this is because I gave evidence at the trial.’

‘Which is why we believe the reasons they gave for the audit are horseshit.’

‘You don’t think it’s budgetary?’

‘If it was, why not say? I’ve been a cop long enough to know there isn’t a bottomless pot of money.’

‘Maybe it’s about you two then.’

‘What have we done?’

‘You get results, Poe. Perhaps they want to see if it can be replicated.’

‘I get results because of Tilly,’ he said. ‘There’s no secret to it. If they’d asked me, I’d have told them. Saved ruining that little squirt’s shoes.’

‘Well, whatever it is . . .’ She trailed off when her phone rang. ‘Sir?’ she said.

The conversation was one-sided and, judging by Nightingale’s furrowed brow, it seemed she was being told something she didn’t like.

‘I’ll tell him, sir.’ She slipped her phone in her pocket and looked at Poe. ‘Who the hell is this guy?’ she said, nodding at Linus. ‘That was the chief constable. He was very clear. Linus Jorgensen is to be given access to all parts of this investigation.’

‘That was quick.’

‘Extremely.’

‘It’s your crime scene, ma’am,’ Poe said. ‘Even the chief constable can’t come in without your permission.’

Poe wasn’t sure whether that was true or not. It was accepted practice that the senior investigating officer had the final word on who was and who wasn’t allowed into a crime scene, although it was unlikely to have been stress-tested when it came to chief constables.

Nightingale sighed. ‘There’s nothing to see and some battles aren’t worth fighting,’ she said. She told Linus to suit up. While he was struggling into a barrier suit, she added, ‘You got a plan for dealing with this prick, Poe?’

‘Working on it.’

‘Good. Let me know if you need a hand.’

‘We haven’t been introduced, Superintendent Nightingale,’ Linus said when he was finally allowed into the outer cordon. ‘My name is Linus Jorgensen. I’m with the National Audit Office.’

Nightingale patted her pockets theatrically. ‘Damn,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d brought my autograph book to work today.’

Poe sniggered then turned his back on Linus. ‘You got a video walkthrough we can watch?’

Nightingale nodded. Her laptop was in her car so she sent one of her cops to bring it up. Staying inside the cordon saved her having to put on fresh barrier clothing.

‘And while we wait,’ she said to Poe, her eyes twinkling mischievously, ‘you can tell me all about your engagement to Estelle. When did it happen? How did you propose? When’s the big day? I want to know everything.’

‘I might have been down in London for a few days, ma’am, but I haven’t turned into Sharey McOversharer just yet. If you want to know what happened, ask someone else.’

‘Tilly, what happened?’

‘Except her.’

‘Estelle Doyle spelled out “Will You Marry Me?” with finger bones, Detective Superintendent Nightingale,’ Bradshaw said immediately. ‘It was wonderfully romantic.’

Nightingale let out a deep laugh. ‘That sounds about right,’ she said.

Behind Poe, Linus Jorgensen began tapping on his tablet again.