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     The Rendez-Vous Point was the junction of Verulam Street, a dead-end road with plenty of space for the police command unit vehicles summoned to the incident. The street opened onto Grays Inn Road amid a cluster of office blocks – nearby to St Anselm’s Infant School, but away from all the cafés, chain stores and art centres surrounded by the greatest concentration of civilians.
     Alison Ryder squeezed hard on the brakes of her motorbike, bracing herself for the sharp drop from 40mph to standstill. A female uniformed constable jogged up to intercept her.
     Ryder swiftly hopped off the bike, removed her helmet, dipped into her breast pocket and brought out her ID. "DS Ryder. Where’s the CO?"
     "He’s only just got here. He’s down at the scene."
     Ryder looked up the road. Several more uniformed constables had formed a cordon to hold back the civilians crowding around to capture the blazing school on their mobile phones. "Take me."
     "I can’t, ma’am, I’ve been instructed–"
     "It’s urgent detail to catch the suspect. Take me now."
     The constable flashed a quick glance back at Verulam Street, then began jogging towards the cordon. Ryder instantly drew alongside her.
     One constable in the cordon saw them approaching, and tapped his colleague. Without a word, they parted to let Ryder and her guide through.
     At the entrance to the school’s road were two fire trucks and three ambulances. They currently blocked Ryder’s view of the school, helping her stay focused. Her guide ran to a heavyset man in a wax jacket, who was busy giving directions to a cluster of constables.
     Her guide seemed hesitant to interrupt the inspector – so Ryder cut in front.
     "Sir, I know where the suspect is."
     The inspector spun to her. "Who’re yer?"
     Ryder held up her ID. "DS Ryder, sir. The suspect posted–"
     The inspector held up a hand, frowning at her ID. "OHCH? You’er a long way from a keyboard, hn’t yer?"
     Ryder looked down the road, spotted the church, and pointed. "There, sir. A video was streamed online minutes ago, pointing at the school from inside that church."
     She paused for less than a second, but it was long enough for the inspector to prompt, "And?"
     "The stream began before the bomb went off."
     The inspector turned to one of the officers in the cluster whose shoulder bore the three chevrons of a sergeant. "You, find out who’s covering east and tell them ter stop anyone running away from the incident." As the sergeant stepped away to bark orders into a walkie, the inspector pointed at the remaining constables in his cluster.
     "You, you–"
     He pointed at Ryder.
     "–and you – come with me."
     They dashed past the fire trucks. Ryder tried not to look at the school, keeping her focus on the church – but it was hard. The bustle of sounds – wailing mothers, gushing fire hoses, yelling firefighters – clawed at her attention.
     But she only missed the inspector’s first word to her. "...still inside?"
     She gave a sharp shrug. "Can’t say."
     The inspector sent the two other officers inside, then jogged to the school gates where yet more officers were consoling tear-ridden parents. Another uniformed sergeant was grimly surveying the wreckage.
     The inspector grabbed his arm. "Sergeant. Did anyone leave the church?"
     The sergeant shook his head, but looked unsure. "I haven’t seen."
     Ryder now had no choice but to look beyond the sergeant at the devastated school – a black hole midst a bright patch of asphalt decorated with painted snakes, ladders and number squares, around which Ryder had seen the children running, talking, fighting, rolling, hugging, hopscotching, lining up... before entering that primary-coloured building that blazed white, then dirty orange, and finally black.
     Down by her leg, Ryder heard a meek voice: "Is they looking for the boy?"
     Ryder instantly dropped to her knees, twisting slightly to draw level with the young girl who had spoken. She looked about seven, standing and shivering next to a couple crouched in a taut embrace. The woman’s face was hidden, planted in the man’s shoulder. He was now looking at Ryder, his face blank – but somehow familiar.
     Ryder concentrated on the girl. "You saw a boy leave the church? What did he look like?"
     Briefly looking to the man for guidance, and receiving a nod, the girl replied, "He... he had a baseball cap on backwards."
     Ryder put on a kind smile. "Can you tell me where he went?"
     The girl nodded, but remained staring at her.
     Patiently, Ryder added, "Can you point to where he went?"
     Now the girl looked behind her, and pointed to the far corner of the church.
     Ryder stood and looked to the inspector. "Sir."
     A curt gesture of her head, and the two of them were running towards the far corner of the church car park. As they approached, a head – bearing a baseball cap worn backwards – popped up from behind a dumpster. The youth looked straight at Ryder, shook for a moment in panic, then shoved the dumpster forward and bolted.
     The inspector intercepted him effortlessly, almost lifting the youth off the ground with a strong grip on each arm. He then yanked the youth’s arms behind his back, and looked over to the school gate to call for the sergeant stationed there.
     That gave Ryder the opportunity she needed.
     With one hand on the youth’s shoulder, she ripped him out of the inspector’s grasp. His arms reactively whipped forward as the momentum stole his balance and tipped him towards the tarmac – but Ryder’s punch down at the back of his ear accelerated his fall, so his knuckles grazed the ground as his chin smashed into it hard.
     Blood spattered from his mouth as Ryder hoisted him back up with his collar, thrust her left hand firmly under his neck to hold him up, then raised her right hand to bring it down hard on the back of his head again – more central and square this time. At the perfect moment she pulled her hand away from his neck, allowing his face to crash flat against the ground at high speed.
     As she went to repeat the move, blood was pouring from where his nose used to be. But this time she dropped him as the inspector’s arms snaked around hers and dragged her away.
     "Sergeant!" he barked.
     Ryder sagged a little. The inspector’s grip was tight – there was no point struggling. So she just stood there, feeling him breathing down the back of her neck, as she stared at the youth’s immobile form through the thickening film of tears forming across her eyes.

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