I had a hearing to attend at the Old Bailey, a shooting that was on its way to trial. It was beyond restful to sit in Court 18 and stare at the oak panelling while the hearing dragged on, the barristers playing a polite game of one-upmanship. I had nothing to do. Chris Pettifer was more than happy to handle any queries that the prosecution had, and since he was a DS, he was entitled to. It was my bad luck that I had forgotten Rob would be at the Central Criminal Court too that morning, dealing with his messed-up murder. I was standing on the concourse outside the court chatting with Pettifer when I felt that tingle at the base of the skull that tells you you’re being watched. Somehow, it wasn’t a surprise when I looked around and saw Rob on the opposite side of the concourse, Liv Bowen at his side. I stared across at him, not able to look away, trying to read the expression on his face. ‘Is everything okay?’ Pettifer was frowning when I looked back at him and I realised I had broken off mid-sentence.
