‘I phoned in sick,’ said Edgar McKee, ‘because I wanted a breather from Wren. How would you feel if he was on your neck every minute of your working day?

‘The lad was driving me nuts, and I’d only been with him for a couple of days. When I woke up on Friday, I just couldn’t face seeing him, spending time with him.’

As she listened to herself explaining to Edgar McKee that his current situation could be the lever that could cut him loose from Wren, she looked at the young man and saw he was on a fast-mounting arc of rage.

‘Try to help someone,’ said Edgar McKee, his bitterness growing with each word. ‘End up in a cell. Wren? That’s a fucking joke name. He’s more of a fucking albatross…’

Clay paused the footage.

‘Do you know what an albatross is, Wren?’ asked Hendricks.

‘No.’

‘It’s a large sea bird. A sailor in an old poem, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, killed an albatross and had to wear the dead bird around his neck. An albatross is a curse. In referring to you as an albatross, Edgar McKee is basically saying he sees you as a curse, and he wants rid of that curse. He’s not your mate. He’s lying. He’s using you. He’s using you to make his story sound plausible. I’m sorry. You need to know the truth. Ignorance isn’t bliss, it’s just ignorance. Ugly deceitful ignorance.’

‘Here’s the plan, Wren,’ said Clay. ‘We’re going to close the interview now. There’s a lot for you to process here. I suggest you have a heart to heart with your dad and Mr Robson. After that, Sergeant Harris will take you back to your cell where you can think things through. I’d like you to stick this at the centre of your thoughts. Ask yourself, am I prepared to lie and get into a heap of trouble for a man who thinks of me, in his own words, as a fucking albatross, a curse?’

‘I want to go home.’

‘As soon as you tell us the truth, you’ll be free to go home.’

Clay looked at the clock on the wall. The time had come to execute the next piece of her strategy. She formally closed the interview and said, ‘Let’s go, Wren.’

Clay opened the door and Edgar McKee stood against the wall facing it, in between Sergeant Harris and PC Tom Morgan, two men whose combined weight in muscle and bone was over thirty-five stone.

Wren stepped out of the interview suite and became very still. He stared at Edgar McKee.

‘What’s up, mate?’ asked Edgar McKee.

Wren made a noise in his throat like a wild dog on the verge of frenzy. He lurched at Edgar McKee but was held back by Harris and Morgan.