Close-cropped ginger-grey hair with the stiffness of velcro hooks, a glimmer of youth still lurking beneath his smiling face, he looked like he had been born in a gym and bottle-fed with whey protein from his very first day.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name’s DS Riley and the man to my left is DC Cole.’

He looked at Cole. ‘Are you in charge here?’

‘DS Riley’s in charge. You’ll need a solicitor, Mr McKee.’

McKee returned his steady gaze to Riley and she wondered if he was imagining what she would look like without any clothes on.

‘I won’t be needing a solicitor.’

‘You most certainly will,’ replied Riley. ‘Why have you handed yourself in?’

McKee laughed and shook his head slowly.

‘I haven’t handed myself in. Handing myself in explicitly suggests I’ve committed a crime. I haven’t committed a crime. I’ve walked in here of my own accord to this police station because I figured you’d have a young man called Robin Wren in custody. I saw his picture on television, caught on CCTV in my van. Just like me, he hasn’t done anything wrong. His father phoned me, told me what I’d already worked out. I came in here to make it clear. Wren and me have done nothing wrong.’

‘Were you driving the vehicle in which he was a passenger?’

‘I most certainly was. It’s my van. I’m the driver. He was the passenger.’

‘Mr McKee,’ said Cole. ‘I’m going to reiterate the message DS Riley gave to you just now. You are going to need a solicitor. You’re looking at some incredibly serious charges here.’

‘Such as?’ His smile broadened as he sat back in the chair and swept Riley up and down with his eyes. She gridlocked him with her whole being, kept him pinned down on the other side of the table, and waited until the sharp edges of his smile faded and he blinked beneath her unyielding gaze.

‘Such as murder,’ said Riley.

‘Murder?’ McKee grinned. ‘The only person getting killed around here is me.’

Cole pushed a piece of paper across the table towards him.

‘Here’s a list of duty solicitors. Choose one.’

McKee looked at the space between their heads and randomly jabbed his finger on the paper in front of him. He looked down, lifted his finger and read, ‘Monica Davis. She can keep me company while you run yourselves around in ever-decreasing circles.’

He stood up to his full height and his physical presence was imposing. As he stretched his limbs, the sleeves of his anorak rode up and the bottom end of a black and white tattoo became visible on his left wrist. He sat down heavily.