‘Not that you know of.’ Driscoll managed the trace of a smile. Downstairs, a buzzer sounded, meaning one of the flats had unlocked the door to someone outside. The door clicked open, then clattered shut again.

‘You sure you’re at—’

Driscoll ended the call and listened as heavy footsteps started coming up the stairs. He could see a man’s hand on the banister, but nothing else until Malcolm Fox reached the landing below. Spotting Driscoll, he offered a brief nod.

‘Funny, that,’ he said as he continued to climb. ‘Officer outside doesn’t have you listed. Doesn’t have a key, either, though he should have. Had to get a neighbour to buzz me in. Remember me, Rob?’

‘More’s the pity.’

Fox had stopped a couple of steps shy of Driscoll. ‘I’d ask what you’re doing here, but you’d only give me some pish in return. We both know, though.’

‘Do we?’

‘Well, if I were in your shoes, I’d probably be fretting just a tad.’

‘You’re not Complaints any more, are you?’

‘Moved up a rung to SCD, and now on secondment to the Francis Haggard inquiry – I don’t need to tell you why.’ Fox climbed another step. ‘Police corruption, Rob. It taints us all. Vast majority of the force wants the stables cleaned, even if they’re too scared to say so out loud. So here I am with a pail and shovel. But here’s the thing – my bosses reckon your pal got himself killed because of something he was about to tell us. That puts your whole station under suspicion. Any scandal, it has to be managed – that’s my role here.’

Above them, a door opened, Chris Agnew peering down.

‘Join us, why don’t you?’ Fox called up, before refocusing his attention on Driscoll. ‘The crap will end up in that pail, Rob – maybe not all of it, but enough to keep my bosses satisfied. Could be officers like yourselves,’ he gestured towards Agnew, who had appeared at Driscoll’s shoulder, ‘could be a previous vintage. I’m not fussed, to be honest, but you probably should be. Bit of chat between us, and your conscience would be clear. I’m at the end of a phone when you want me. Now, I’m just going to reacquaint myself with the locus. If you give me the keys, I’ll lock up after.’ He held out his hand, and Driscoll dropped the keys into his palm.

‘No grasses at Tynie,’ Driscoll stated, jaw jutting. Fox brushed past him and Agnew both.

‘Sorry for your loss, by the way,’ he said.

They watched the flat door close after him.

‘More trouble?’ Chris Agnew demanded.

‘More trouble,’ Rob Driscoll was forced to agree.