Discharging his driver on Clerkenwell Road, Carlyle made his way on foot through the backed-up traffic towards the police tape. Almost immediately, he felt sweat soaking into his shirt as his body temperature rose. The inspector was not good in the heat and he quickly began to feel oppressed and lethargic. As he progressed, the cacophony of horns grew louder and the air grew thicker with exhaust fumes. A dull headache gripped the back of his neck and he felt an acute need for some water. Halfway up the road, he passed a number 38 bus. It was stuck between stops and the passengers were arguing with the driver, who was refusing to open the doors so that they could get out. Carlyle watched a man in a suit and tie kick one of the doors in fury while a baby in a buggy started screaming its head off; just another fun journey for happy travellers in the big city. He ducked inside a newsagent shop and bought a chilled half-litre bottle of Evian, chugging down half of it before continuing on his way.
