The night had stuck to the windows of New Scotland Yard, the city lights blurred behind a wet layer of steam. Except for two brief breaks for the restroom and a visit to the stationery drawer, Baxter had not left her "nailed" square desk in the Homicide and Serious Crime department since she arrived that morning. She stared intently at the tower of paperwork at the edge of her desk, which precariously balanced over the wastebasket, and had to fight all her natural instincts not to gently push it in the right direction. At the age of thirty-four, she had become one of the youngest chief inspectors appointed to the Metropolitan Police, although this rapid rise in the ranks was neither expected nor particularly welcome. And the vacant position of supervisor and her subsequent promotion to it could be attributed solely to the "Puppet" case and the fact that she was the one who had arrested the notorious serial killer the previous summer.

The previous chief inspector, Terence Simons, had been forced to retire due to illness, which everyone suspected had worsened because of the chief's threat to fire him if he refused to leave voluntarily, the usual retaliation to the disappointed public opinion, like the sacrifice of an innocent to appease the eternally enraged gods. Baxter shared the same feeling as her other colleagues: She was disgusted to see her predecessor become a scapegoat, but, in the end, she felt relieved that it was not her. It had never crossed her mind to apply for the recently vacated position until the chief told her that the job was hers if she wanted it.