“What I’m suggesting is that this isn’t a bloody game. I’ve just been with the father of a thirteen-year-old boy whose body-”

“We need words about that,” Hillier interrupted. He finally took his gaze off Lynley and directed it to Deacon. He said, “Come up with the list of names, Stephenson. I’d like CVs on them all. Sample articles as well. I’ll have a decision for you in-” He looked at his watch and then consulted the diary on his desk, “-I should think forty-eight hours will be sufficient.”

“D’you want a word leaked to the proper ears?” This came from the male minion, who’d finally looked up from his note taking. The female continued to say nothing, and her inspection of Lynley did not shift.

“Not at the moment,” Hillier said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“That’s that, then,” Deacon said.

Lynley watched as the three of them gathered up notebooks, manila folders, briefcases, and bags. They left the room in a line, with Deacon at the head. Lynley didn’t follow but rather used the time in an attempt to marshall tranquility.

He finally said, “Malcolm Webberly was a miracle worker.”

Hillier sat behind his desk and observed Lynley over steepled fingers. “Don’t let’s talk about my brother-in-law.”

“I think we need to,” Lynley went on. “It’s only just come to me the lengths he must have gone to to keep you under wraps.”

“Watch yourself.”

“I don’t think it benefits either of us if I do.”

“You can be replaced.”

“Which you couldn’t do to Webberly? Because he’s your brother-in-law, and there was no way on earth that your wife would see you sacking her sister’s husband? Not when she knew her sister’s husband was the only thing standing between you and the end of your career?”

“That’s quite enough.”

“You’ve got everything the wrong way round in this investigation. You’ve probably always been like that, with only Webberly standing between you and the discovery of-”

Hillier surged to his feet. “I said that’s enough!”

“But now he’s not here and you’re exposed. And I’m left with the option of seeing you hang us all or just yourself. So which course do you expect me to take?”

“I expect you to obey the orders you’re given. As they’re given and when they’re given.”

“Not when they’re senseless.” Lynley tried to calm himself. He managed to say in a quieter tone, “Sir, I can’t let you interfere any longer. I’m going to have to demand that you either stop meddling in the investigation or I’ll have to…” And there Lynley stopped, halted in midstride by the satisfied expression that flitted briefly across Hillier’s face.

He suddenly realised that his own myopia had propelled him into the AC’s trap. And that realisation prompted his understanding of why Superintendent Webberly had always made it known to his brother-in-law which of his officers ought to succeed him, even if such succession were only to be a temporary measure. Lynley could walk off the job at the drop of a hat without suffering a moment’s hardship. The others couldn’t. He had an income independent of the Met. For the other DIs, the Met put food on their families’ table and a roof over their heads. Circumstances would force them time and again to submit to Hillier’s directives without argument because none of them could afford to be sacked. Webberly had seen Lynley as the only one of them with the slightest chance of keeping at least some kind of rein on his brother-inlaw.

God knew he owed the superintendent that favour, Lynley thought. Webberly had often enough been willing to do the same for him.

“Or?” Hillier’s voice was deadly.

Lynley sought a new direction. “Sir, we’ve got another killing to contend with. We can’t be asked to contend with journalists as well.”

“Yes,” Hillier said. “Another killing. You’ve acted in direct defiance of an order, Superintendent, and you’d better have a good explanation for that.”

They were finally down to it, Lynley thought: his refusal to let Hamish Robson view the scene of the crime. He didn’t obfuscate by getting on to something else. He said, “I left word at the barrier. No one without ID onto the crime scene. Robson had no ID and the constables at the barrier hadn’t a clue who he was. He might have been anyone, and specifically, he might have been a reporter.”

“And when you saw him? When you spoke to him? When he made the request to see the photos, the video, what remained of the scene or anything else…?”

“I refused,” Lynley said, “but you know that already or we wouldn’t be talking about it now.”

“That’s right. And now you’re going to listen to what Robson has to say.”

“Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a team to see and work to be getting on with. This is more important than-”

“My authority trumps yours,” Hillier said, “and you’re face-to-face with a direct order now.”

“I understand that,” Lynley said, “but if he hasn’t seen the photos, we can’t waste time while he-”

“He’s seen the video. He’s read the preliminary reports.” Hillier smiled thinly when he saw Lynley’s surprise. “As I said. My authority trumps yours, Superintendent. So sit down. You’re going to be here awhile.”

HAMISH ROBSON had the grace to look apologetic. He also had the grace to look as uncomfortable as any intuitive man might have looked in the same situation. He came into the office with a yellow legal pad in his hand and a small stack of paperwork. The latter he handed over to Hillier. He cocked his head at Lynley and raised one shoulder in a quick, diffident movement that said “Not my idea.”

Lynley nodded in turn. He bore the man no animosity. As far as he was concerned, both of them were doing their jobs under extremely difficult conditions.

Hillier obviously wanted dominance to be the theme of the meeting: He did not move from behind his desk to go to the conference table at which he’d held his colloquy with the press chief and his cohorts, and he motioned Robson to join Lynley in sitting before him. Together they ended up resembling two supplicants come before the throne of Pharaoh. Only the prostration was missing.

“What have you come up with, Hamish?” Hillier asked, eschewing any polite preliminaries.

Robson used his thumbs to hold his legal pad across his knees. His face appeared feverish, and Lynley felt a momentary surge of sympathy for the man. It was the rock and the hard place for him once again.

“With the earlier crimes,” Robson said, and he sounded unsure about how exactly to negotiate the landscape of tension between the two Met officers, “the killer achieved the sense of omnipotence he was after through the overt mechanics of the crime: I mean the abduction of the victim, the restraining and the gagging, the rituals of burning and incising. But in this case, in Queen’s Wood, those earlier behaviours weren’t enough. Whatever he gained from the earlier crimes-let’s continue to posit it was power-was denied to him with this one. That triggered a rage within him that he hasn’t so far felt. And it was a rage that surprised him, I expect, since he’s no doubt come up with an elaborate rationale for why he’s been murdering these boys and rage has never come into the equation. But now he feels it because he’s being thwarted in his desire for power, so he feels the full brunt of a sudden need to punish what he sees as defiance in his victim. This victim becomes responsible for not giving the killer what he’s got from every other victim so far.”

Robson had been looking at his notes as he spoke, but now he raised his head, as if needing to be told he could continue. Lynley said nothing. Hillier nodded curtly.

“So he turns to physical abuse with this boy,” Robson said, “in advance of the killing. And he feels no remorse for the crime afterwards: The body’s not laid out and arranged like an effigy. Instead, it’s dumped. And it’s placed where it might have been days before anyone stumbled upon it, so we can assume the killer’s keeping watch over the investigation and making an effort now not only to leave no evidence at the scene but also to run no risk of being seen. I expect you’ve talked to him already. He knows you’re closing in and he has no intention of giving you anything henceforth to connect him to the crime.”