There is no band called the Fire Judges playing regularly anywhere in London—or for that matter anywhere in the world—but Neith’s searches do locate the Duke of Denver, a former pumping station on the Thames, which hosts live music. Good, then. It will be, by all available accounts, an enjoyable evening’s entertainment. She walks south, reviewing the news of the day. Narrow focus is a bad habit; crime does not operate in isolation from the wider world.