As a rainstorm of apocalyptic proportions broke, the two Daves went running for buckets, knowing that the downpour would expose a number of flaws in their window repairs. ‘Well, if it isn’t James Bond,’ said Janice Longbright as Fraternity dripped all over her desk. ‘Do you want me to give you a rough estimate of the damage bill?’ ‘I was trying to save someone’s life,’ said Fraternity, struggling to get his soaked boots off. ‘Your suspect came in DOA. It wasn’t your fault.’ ‘I know that,’ said Fraternity quietly. ‘Do you want to know who he was? Bill Crooms, fifty-six, an engineer from Manchester down on his luck, staying at a Travelodge on the Euston Road, paying his bills in cash.’ She checked her screen. ‘Chalk another one up to Old Father Thames. We’ve got an ID for the body under the bridge, too. Dimitri Gilyov, forty-seven, engineer, born in Fryazino, which is supposedly to the north-east of Moscow, although I couldn’t find it. While I’m waiting for further information, read and sign please.’ She handed him several pages.
