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“Thank you, Mr.—”

“Mr. Harlow. This young lady’s a credit to the Force,” Mr. Harlow told Layman. “Even after what happened yesterday, here she is, back on the job, running after criminals.”

Gabriella drank the water in a few gulps and handed the cup back to Mr. Harlow. “Thank you so much.”

He gave a nod and walked back to his shop.

“A credit to the Force?” Layman asked.

Gabriella sighed. “They see the uniform, and they think we’re part of the police.”

“Ah.” He gave a nod. “What happened yesterday?”

“Nothing to do with this,” she said. “If it’s all right, I’ll be off.”

“I’ll need a statement,” he said, but he stepped away, as if conceding she could go. “If you know how to write one up, you can do it yourself and give it to Archer.”

“Thank you.” That would make her life a lot easier, and his, too, she didn’t doubt.

She tried not to limp as she walked away, but she might just have started to as soon as she was far enough from the scene that no one would notice. She could actually see headquarters up ahead when she heard the pounding of feet behind her.

She stepped up to the closest wall, and turned to see who it was, then sank against the bricks in relief when she saw it was James.

“You’re hurt.” James had stopped running when she’d stopped, but he walked toward her with a deep frown. “Layman told me you were a witness, not a victim.”

She grimaced. “Are you telling me I look like an old woman when I walk?”

He kept coming, brushing her comment off. “No, you look like you’re hurt.”

“It didn’t happen today, it happened yesterday.” She straightened up, and hooked her arm through his, and he moved along with her, walking beside her the last little way to her destination.

“What happened yesterday?” he asked.

“I went to see Mr. Havelock in the morning, for an update on my case, and on my way back to work, someone pushed me in front of a bus.” She leaned her head on his arm, and sighed.

“Who?” His voice was grim. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you at work, and I actually wasn’t badly hurt. The bus driver stopped in time and I just got a few scrapes on my palms.” She eyed the steps up to the doors of headquarters grimly, because she knew this was going to hurt.

“But you are badly hurt,” James said.

“Yes, that came later, at the end of the day, actually close to where the incident that happened today was. Someone rode their moped on the pavement, and pushed me into the evening traffic on the high street.” She grasped the railing and heaved herself up the first step. “That one hurt considerably more, but fortunately didn’t end up with me actually being hit by a car, thank goodness.”

“Twice in one day,” James said. He put his arm around her to help her and she flinched away.

“Sorry, my back is all scraped up.”

He dropped his arms and stopped on the stairs. “We’re a matching pair now.” But while he was smiling, it didn’t touch his eyes. “You still haven’t answered who it was.”

“I don’t know if it was the same person both times, but even if it was, I never saw their face. It might, just might, have been that man we saw on Monday, sheltering in the rain at my neighbor’s house?” She shrugged and hauled herself up the last couple of steps to the top. “A few people described him as tall and thin and very young.”

“Sutcliffe’s man?” James asked, face grim.

“Possible.” She stood to the side as he opened the door for her. “Maybe even likely, if Sutcliffe thinks I might have the pull to get the authorities involved in his negligence.”

“Gabriella.” He stepped into the foyer behind her. He sounded strained.

It was gloomy inside and smelled of furniture polish and whatever the cleaner used to mop the floors.