'Done what?'

'Taken some white boy out to dinner.'

'I'm honoured then.'

'You should be.'

'Where are we going anyway?'

'It's a surprise.'

Elder grinned. 'I'm from the sticks, remember. Anything much beyond a trip to the local Wimpy's a surprise to me.'

'Okay,' Karen said. 'We're going to Moro. If that means anything.'

'Should it?'

'It's a Spanish restaurant. Not a Wimpy Bar. And you're supposed to be impressed. You have to book weeks in advance to get into this place. Even on a Monday.'

'What did you do? Offer to arrest the chef?'

'Something like that.'

The cab dropped them at the corner of Clerkenwell Road and Rosebery Avenue and they walked past a succession of closed shops and small cafes until they came to a restaurant on the right-hand side of the narrow street. Nothing auspicious from the outside.

Karen hesitated before pushing open the door. 'I should have said. It's not a table exactly. The best they could do was two seats at the bar.'

In the event, when Karen gave her name there'd been a cancellation and they were shown to one of several small tables close to the window facing out on to the street.

'Wine, Frank? Red or white?'

'Red's fine.'

After a little hesitation, Karen picked out a Bobal Tempranillo '01 from the list.

Elder settled into his seat and looked around. The interior was crowded, busy; a steady buzz of overlapping conversations, interrupted by the odd raised voice, the occasional guffaw. Towards the rear of the room, a clutch of thirty-something men in dark suits, who looked as if they'd been there since finishing work, were making more noise than most. On either side of their table, handsome couples gazed into one another's eyes, out on either a first or second date.

Elder hadn't been sure what to expect from the menu, his knowledge of Spanish cuisine not stretching far beyond paella or chorizo, but neither appeared to be there. Karen ordered a starter of broad beans and Serrano ham and he followed suit.

'Tell me about the forensics on the knife,' he said.

'You really know how to woo a girl, Frank.'

'Is that what I'm supposed to be doing?'

'God, no.' A smile creased the corners of her eyes.

'So tell me.'

'I'd been busting this poor guy's balls. In Forensic Sciences. Dickenson? Dickerson? Finally he tells me they've found a microscopic sample of blood, right at the base of the blade, close against the handle. Only reason, I suppose, it didn't get wiped away. Anyway, when he says this I'm thinking okay, fantastic, it's got to be Maddy Birch's blood. Put that with what we've got from the computer simulation and we've got this nailed as the weapon for sure.'

'Is everything all right?' the waiter asked, leaning towards them.

'Fine,' Karen answered, not looking up.

The waiter went away.

'So,' she continued, 'there I am getting all excited and I ask him, assuming I know the answer, but just to hear him say it, the blood, it's a match with Maddy Birch, right? And he says, No. I could have shouted at him down the phone, really lost it, but I'd done that already.'

She took a sip of her wine.

'So,' Elder said, 'you asked him whose blood it was.'

'What I actually said was, Who the fuck does it belong to then?'

'And he said…?'

'And he said, It's Steve Kennet's blood. I could have kissed him. Probably would have if he'd been there.'

'Just as well he wasn't. You know, work colleagues, station intrigue.'

Karen leaned back in her chair, as if to focus on him more clearly. 'That what you are, Frank? A work colleague?'

'Not for much longer.'

'The business with Mallory and Repton?'

Elder nodded.

'Where are you up to with all that?'

He told her over their main course, Karen having opted for sea bass with roast mixed squash, Elder the lamb with spicy chick-pea puree and spinach.

'So what do you reckon the chances are,' Karen said, setting down her knife and fork, 'of tracking Mallory down and bringing him back?'

'Tracking him down, I'd say pretty good. But if he's joined his buddy Slater in the TRNC -'

'The what?'

'TRNC. Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus. There's no extradition treaty.'

'Asil Nadir. I remember.'

'Exactly.'

'You want some more wine?'

'Have we finished this?'

'Just about.'

'Best not.'

'You fancy something else? Brandy? Whisky?'

'Maybe later.'

Karen raised an eyebrow, amused. 'Don't count too many chickens, Frank.'

Elder drank a double espresso, watching her eat her way through a largish helping of chocolate ice cream with cardamon. Despite his protestations, she paid the bill. The restaurant had ordered them a taxi.

'You're going to have to be careful,' Karen said, settling back against the seat.

'What of?'

'Getting a reputation.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'Twice now, isn't it? That you've pulled cases out of the fire. Last year and now this.'

'Luck,' Elder said, 'that's most of it. That and the people I've been lucky enough to work with.'

Karen laughed. 'You old charmer, you!'

It made sense, she said, for the cab to drop him off first. They stood on the pavement outside the small block of flats, his home but not for much longer, the driver keeping his engine idling, the meter ticking over.

It was a surprisingly mild night, mild for the time of year.

She looked beautiful, he thought, the way the light shone in her eyes.

'Say goodnight, Frank.'

'Goodnight.'

She kissed him on the mouth.

Elder stirred, waking in the darkness, not knowing if he'd been asleep for minutes or hours. Not knowing what had woken him, other than the smell, the scent of mint and garlic clear in the room.

His eyes focused on Mallory standing just beyond the end of the bed, pistol in hand.

'Sometimes you can delegate,' Mallory said, 'offload. Sometimes there's so much shit been spread around you just have to clear it up yourself.'

His eyes narrowed marginally as he raised his arm.

'Should've stayed in Cornwall, Frank. Safer by far.'

As his finger touched the trigger, he heard a sound at his back and spun around. On her way back from the bathroom, Karen had picked up the stainless steel kettle from the work surface in the kitchen. She swung it fast and hard into Mallory's face, the hard edge striking his nose full on, the flesh splitting open like an overripe plum.

Elder jumped at Mallory from behind, doing his best to wrench the pistol from his hand.

Mallory struggled and swore and Karen swung the kettle a second time to the crack of splintering bone.

Elder forced Mallory to the ground and, one foot firm in the small of his back, brought first one arm and then the other round tight behind him.

The sound Mallory made, forced between broken teeth, was not a word at all.

'Hang on,' Karen said, stepping into a pair of knickers before fetching the handcuffs from her bag. 'Any emergency,' she said, with a grin.

Elder was still far too shaken to smile back.

'Keep an eye on him,' Karen said. 'I'll phone it in.'

Elder said okay and lowered himself to the edge of the bed. Another moment, another second and he would have been dead. Head and heart.

As his breathing steadied, he listened to Karen's voice from the other room, concise and clear. He already knew he would never forget the sight of her, stepping stark naked into the room, preparing to swing a kettle at Mallory's head. And almost certainly save his life.