“Can I cry a little bit?”

“Gin only.”

“ENGAGED,” SAID CORMAC ruefully, hanging up the phone. Kim-Ange would almost certainly be talking to her parents again, something that took place, on and off, quite a lot of the day.

“Mm-hmm,” said the policeman, uninterested. Cormac was still worried about whether they were going to charge him.

“Want a solicitor?”

On a list of things Cormac wanted, a solicitor was so far from being something he wanted he nearly cried. Instead he said, clearly, no, he didn’t and hoped he’d made the right decision.

The interview room was horrible, small, with a tiny cracked reinforced glass window set high above their heads and a revolting stale odor made no better by the heat of the day. What was lovely outside in London was very muggy and unpleasant in a basement near the River Thames. Feet were just visible above his head, walking back and forth in freedom. He watched them pass, feeling defeated, which he imagined was the point of the place, after all.

“I WAS TRYING to stop the big lad hurting anyone,” said Cormac for the fourth time to the two police officers opposite him. “I was using army defense methods to restrain him, nothing more. They went slightly wrong. But you know the trouble these big lads get themselves into. We were already there because of a horrible accident. Really wasn’t in the mood for another one.”

He sniffed.

“Also, sorry to point this out, but we were in a courtroom facility crawling with police officers and security guards. Why was I the only person in there trying to sort something out to stop them killing each other?”

The police officers looked at each other for a moment.

“Okay,” said the policeman finally. “Well, Big Al said to say thanks. He could have killed that guy and he did feel very bad about that.”

He was reading from a piece of paper.

“He’s pleaded guilty to brawling. Shouldn’t get him into too much trouble—slap on the wrist if he’s lucky.”

“Anger management? He needs it.”

“I hope so,” said the female officer. “Perhaps a medical professional could write a letter of recommendation.”

“Happy to,” said Cormac.

They all looked at one another. Cormac tried desperately not to glance at the clock.

“Ex-army, huh?” said the police officer, checking the files on her computer. “Says here you served in Fallujah?”

Cormac nodded.

“But you’ve never been in trouble?” She smiled rather wryly. “My brother was out there.”

She gave him a shrewd look.

“He found it quite tricky coming home.”

Cormac found himself swallowing suddenly. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, in a quiet tone of voice.

“But you’re doing well.”

“Apart from being in prison,” said Cormac, thinking of everything that had happened, everything he’d learned and seen in the last few months.