Moss felt the Marissa Lewis murder case, complicated by the gas mask attacks, was spinning out of her control – and as the acting SIO, she was still playing catch up. She was used to being a cog; in fact, she prided herself on being a cog in the overall machine: keeping things oiled, providing support and cracking jokes when things seemed to get tense.

Now she was the boss, she felt the pressure of scrutiny, and despite only being the temporary SIO, she felt the shift in the team and the way they behaved towards her. She was called ‘ma’am’. The first time Sergeant Crane had called her ‘ma’am’, she’d thought of a joke –something along the lines of it rhyming with ‘Spam’. But she’d stopped herself, realising she needed to be serious.

The other thing that was hampering her progress was the way Erika worked as an SIO. She didn’t write much down, preferring to work in her head, so Moss had spent most of the day playing catch up. The superintendent had asked her if anyone had re-interviewed Marissa’s mother, Mandy about her sleeping arrangements, and Moss had been clueless, racking her brains and trying to think back to the reports she’d read: did the superintendent mean Mandy’s sleeping arrangements as in the men she shared her bed with, or where she slept? Moss remembered at the last minute Mandy had been sleeping downstairs when Marissa was murdered, but drawing a blank had shaken her up. She couldn’t bear the thought of being demoted back to a Detective Inspector before the case was solved, but she had no clue as to how she was going to solve it, and even whether she could. Erika solved the cases, and she was always there ready to execute orders. Moss realised now how much she enjoyed following orders.

After talking to the superintendent, Moss had gone to the rarely-used toilets on the top floor by the conference rooms, locked herself in a cubicle and phoned Celia, biting back tears as she poured out her woes.

‘This is the first time you’ve been given a case,’ said Celia. ‘You have to be kind on yourself… And you’re taking over in the middle of a complex case. You’re a popular member of the team. You should crack some jokes to lighten the mood; is there anyone new who doesn’t know your first name is Kate?’

Moss laughed and blotted her cheeks with a scrunched-up ball of loo roll.

‘I’m now the boss; I can’t make Kate Moss jokes, people are looking up to me to provide them with guidance and wisdom and strategy. And I have to solve the bloody thing whilst jugging case files and…’ Her voice tailed off.

‘Lists,’ said Celia. ‘You’re bloody good at lists. You’ve always got a pile of Post-its by the fridge, and we work through them and we always solve problems, and we get things done. You should always break problems and tasks down, instead of trying to tackle them head on in one.’

‘You’re right,’ Moss said. ‘It’s not a murder case, it’s a series of to-do lists.’

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It was now late afternoon, and Moss was back in the incident room, working at her cluttered desk in the corner. She had been offered the use of an office, but there hadn’t been any time to move her computer access and the vast amount of paperwork on her desk. On Celia’s advice, she now had a terrifyingly long to-do list, but she felt better about it. One good thing about being the boss was that you got to delegate.

‘Any news on Don Walpole’s location?’ she shouted.

‘We’re still waiting on the national ANPR data centre,’ said Crane. ANPR stood for the Automatic Number Plate Recognition database. ‘If he crossed the congestion charge zone, that will be the bullseye.’

‘Can you chivvy them along, and tell them we’re not asking for our health!’ she said, scanning her list. ‘We should also put out a check on his passports and his credit cards at this stage. He is the closest we have to a suspect.’

Crane nodded and picked up his phone.

‘What about the diamond earrings? Where is McGorry?’ Just as Moss asked, McGorry came back into the incident room. ‘You went this morning to find the jeweller in Hatton Garden, yes?’

‘Yes, Moss, I mean, boss.’

‘Stick with Moss.’

‘Okay. The guy in the jeweller, Mr Litman, remembered Ella coming in with Marissa to have the earrings valued. He said they were genuine and worth ten and a half grand. I then went back to see Mrs Fryatt at her house, to ask her again about the earrings… I even had a description. They were princess-cut diamonds in twenty-four karat gold.’ He blew his cheeks out. ‘She’s a nasty old cow, she accused me of being in the wrong, saying that all her jewellery is accounted for and up in her safe.’

‘Did you ask to see the safe?’

‘I did, and she said it was in her bedroom, and that she didn’t invite young men into her bedroom without a warrant.’

Peterson and Crane laughed, and Moss had to keep a straight face. It was on the tip of her tongue to crack a joke that no one ever needed a warrant to get in her knickers, that all it usually took was a slap-up meal at Nando’s, but she reminded herself she was now acting SIO.

‘Did you think Mrs Fryatt was lying?’

‘I’m confused, because I also asked her to confirm the name of the jeweller where her son works,’ said McGorry. ‘It’s the same jeweller, R.D. Litman & Sons. Charles Fryatt is married to Mr Litman’s daughter, Lara… She’s a retired schoolteacher and they have three children who are all grown up. It’s quite a big family business. Mr Litman’s other two sons also work there.’ He paused for everyone to take in the link. ‘Charles Fryatt wasn’t at work when I went in. We only saw Mr Litman. I asked Ella if there had been anyone else in the jeweller when she and Marissa went in to have the earrings valued, and she said they had only seen Mr Litman.’

‘There’s a chance that Charles Fryatt didn’t know?’ asked Crane.

‘That’s one hell of a fishy chance, but you say Mrs Fryatt offered up the information about where Charles worked?’ said Moss.

‘Yeah, with no qualms, she didn’t seem worried. She seemed proud that he had such a good job,’ said McGorry.

‘Have you spoken to Charles Fryatt?’

‘No. I couldn’t get hold of him. When I called the shop back, Mr Litman said that Charles wasn’t at work. He wasn’t answering his phone either, and his wife didn’t know where he was.’

‘What if Marissa was lying about where she got the earrings?’ said Peterson.

‘Why lie that you stole them from someone? Wouldn’t it be easier to say that she got them from an admirer who came to see her dance at the club?’ said Moss.

‘What if it was something more sinister?’ said McGorry. ‘I don’t know what, but Marissa Lewis was a woman with a million secrets.’

‘That’s all this case needs, is to get more sinister,’ said Moss, looking down her list, and once again, feeling overwhelmed.