Which meant he would have to tell the family, though not until he had read Adam’s full report and the Chief had gone over it in turn, then decided whether or not to open a new case. Adam Iliffe had raised suspicions, with a certain amount of . . . of what? Evidence? Simon doubted it. Suspicion was not proof. Opinion was not evidence.

It was a quiet morning. Most of CID were out on their own jobs, there was a planning meeting for uniform after news had come in from the underground network about a rave due to take place that Friday night, plus rumours of a demo somewhere in the force area, though what sort of demo and by whom and exactly where was unclear. The problem was always sorting out genuine info from false, and in the case of the rave, trying to second-guess whether it was really taking place at the site mentioned or if this was a deliberate red herring.

Simon picked up his pen and started jotting down thoughts about how he would proceed on the Liam Payne case in the light of Adam’s call. Nothing was obvious, nothing was new, everything was up for grabs, but so much was still vague and unconnected. There was only one way to tackle it – start over, pretend this was the morning he got the call to Starly and drove over there knowing nothing whatsoever except that a body had been found.

And then his phone rang.

‘Guv, there’s a man at the desk asking for you, well, not so much by name but wanting the bloke at the top, in his words.’

Serrailler had always taken his own particular view of such visitors, once the desk sergeant had gone through ‘drunk, mad, dangerous’ or simply ‘elderly confused’. Most senior officers would rarely meet random visitors at the front desk, they would fob them off with someone down the line, or with the usual excuses about being out on a call, in a meeting, on the phone, not on duty. But Serrailler had had many a good lead from mystery visitors in the course of his career, and several of them had turned into valuable, long-term informers for the force. He had never discussed snouts with the Chief, though his predecessor had approved of them, believing that, properly handled, they could only be useful and that the police needed all the help they could get. Something made him doubt if Kieron took the same view.

‘What’s his name? No, don’t tell me . . .’

‘I’ve tried, guv, believe me I’ve tried, and I confess to you that I have totally failed.’

‘I’m in bits. All right, Sarge, will you send him up with one of your finest, tallest, broadest, most silent men?’

‘PC Welby’s just coming through the door.’

‘Perfect.’

He was not trying to intimidate the man, whoever he was, but a show of strength at the beginning sent the right message.