McKee turned the corner, in between his solicitor, Ms Davis, and Sergeant Harris. Wren’s hands flew to his mouth and Edgar stopped dead in his tracks.

‘Wren, I worked out you’d be here. I came to rescue you, to show the police that it was all a dreadful mistake you being in here. I’m so sorry you’re here,’ said McKee. ‘I blame myself but I am trying to save you and I will save you one way or another.’

Wren seemed to grow over ten centimetres as he stood to attention and dropped his hands to his sides. With his right hand he gave McKee the stiffest, most formal of military salutes.

‘Wren, put your hand down,’ said McKee.

Wren didn’t move, kept his hand frozen in mid-air.

Clay walked in front of Wren, filmed the look of righteous solemnity on his face as he walked towards Edgar McKee.

‘Hand down, Wren. That’s a good lad.’

Wren held an index finger to his lips and made a soft shushing sound.

‘Captain Cyclone and agents in the field are safe, Edgar. Thanks to you and me.’

‘Captain Cyclone isn’t real, Wren. I really don’t know what you mean. There are no agents in the field.’

‘Pardon?’ asked Wren.

‘It’s a game we play.’

‘It was all in my head. You made it come to life. And now you’re saying it’s not real? Is that what you’re saying, Colonel Edgar McKee?’

The light in Wren’s eyes faded and was quickly replaced by darkness and hurt.

‘It’s all right, Wren. We can work all this out,’ said Clay. ‘Separate the fact from the fiction.’

She turned her iPhone on Edgar McKee, saw him tailspin into sudden confusion.

‘This is all really highly irregular,’ said Ms Davis with a moral outrage that simply didn’t ring true.

The door leading into the corridor of interview suites opened behind Clay, and the coldness of the night outside came in with the caller.

‘Ms Davis, it’s not as irregular as young women being murdered, scalped and having their faces ripped off post-mortem,’ said Clay. ‘We’re going to talk Captain Cyclone to you, Wren, after we’ve talked Captain Cyclone to Edgar, here.’

‘She’s tricking you, Wren,’ said McKee. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong, neither have I. But she wants to make you feel like you’ve done something wrong. That’s her role in this world. Say something, Wren. Let me know that we’re still mates.’

‘We’re still mates.’ Wren looked as if he was about to break down into floods of tears and was digging down to his deepest grit to hold himself together. ‘Are you feeling better, Edgar?’

‘I’m right as rain, mate.’

‘Have you stopped going to the toilet?’

McKee looked at his solicitor and at Clay.

‘Are you going to interview me or what?’