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You have carte blanche on your team, premises, whatever you need; this is getting a very high priority as you can imagine.’
    ‘Thank you, Malcolm,’ Jack said, adrenaline beginning to course through his body at the notion of heading a major operation again.
    ‘I know I can count on you,’ Sharpe said matter-of-factly, clearly trying to hide the paternal instincts he held for Jack.
    ‘Files?’
    ‘Already prepped, your name all over them.
    You’re off Ghost Squad as of today.’
    Jack nodded. ‘Have you heard anything from Deegan?’
    ‘Ghost Squad has little time for DCI Deegan’s simmering rage. Since your undercover operation that led to the death of PC Conway, Deegan has taken an almost unnatural interest in you and I don’t think he’s completely given up his desire to nail your arse to a post, so you do need to stay very clean. Mind you, Benson will watch your back. Where do you want to be based?’
    ‘Not at the Empress building, Malcolm.’
    ‘Now then, Jack, I thought you appreciated stunning, state-of-the-art-structures.’
    ‘I don’t want to be based at Earls Court for this if I can help it.’

    Sharpe gave a grunt. ‘So be it. You can base the operation out of Victoria Street.’
    ‘Top floor again, Malcolm?’ The senior man gave him a baleful look. ‘My staff will work better with nice views,’ Jack added.
    ‘You mean you want to look out over Westminster and not Little Oz. I’ll tell your sister that.’
    Jack drained his coffee, smiling. ‘I’ll start making some calls.’
    ‘Anyone you want can be seconded into the operation, although I reckon I can take a pretty good guess at your top layer,’ Sharpe said, picking at his teeth. ‘Got some almond stuck, damn! Now my gum will swell.’
    Jack laughed. ‘I think you’re getting grouchier by the year, Malcolm.’
    ‘I’m allowed to: I’m sixty-one! Where are you going to start?’
    Jack didn’t hesitate. ‘With the river, I reckon. Someone must have seen something down there — the bargees themselves, perhaps. Bodies can’t just be left in shallow graves without such a close community knowing something.’
    Sharpe agreed. ‘Good.’
    ‘And then I think we need to canvass the area around Springfield and Whitechapel.’
    ‘You’ll need translators.’
    Jack made a mental note to get immediately on to the National Register of Public Service Interpreters. ‘I’ll call NPRSI this afternoon.’
    ‘I’ll organise for all files to be delivered to the Yard at Victoria Street and Helen will save you time by arranging phone lines, computers etc. Don’t worry about any of the administrative stuff, just organise your team and get started.’

    ‘Right. I’ll see you back to the tube, unless you’d like a tour of Greenwich?’
    ‘Absolutely not,’ Sharpe said, eagerly standing. ‘I’m ready to return to the real world.’ They shared a smile. ‘Whoever’s behind this is clearly clever and driven, Jack. That’s the worst kind of criminal. Our problem is we have no idea of who or where or why this is happening. We need some leads — drum them up.’
    Jack nodded. His gut was already telling him that if there were three bodies then others would turn up soon.
    The hollow-looking man gazed bleakly at his anxious companion. ‘Calm down,’ he cautioned. ‘You’ll draw attention to us.’
    Namzul took a steadying breath, watched his companion wave to the Gluck family — the horde — as the children were given a rare outing in the park. He looked at Mrs Gluck; he suspected she was only in her early thirties but she looked like a woman well into middle age after giving Moshe three daughters and six sons. There would be more, Namzul was sure of it; after all, their marriage was meant to be a vehicle for populating the world with people of their faith.
    Namzul hated Moshe Gluck. But he needed him too.
    ‘Haven’t I always looked after you, Namzul?’ Moshe asked, not looking at him but gazing at his family from the park