‘And with this being a murder inquiry, we got the permission we needed to empty Francis’s locker.’

‘Find anything juicy?’

Fox extracted a sheet of paper from the file in front of him. ‘Couple of dodgy DVDs – nothing you’d classify as legal. And a passport belonging to a tourist who reported it lost three months ago. I hear there’s a bit of a market for those?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘We’ve also looked at Francis’s phone,’ Clarke continued. ‘DI Fox has a printout of his recent text messages. The very last one was to you, time-stamped the evening he was murdered.’

‘Aye?’

‘You didn’t think to mention it earlier?’

Driscoll shrugged. ‘Can’t see how it’s relevant.’

‘The meeting under discussion never took place?’

‘He failed to get back to me, as you’ll also know from his phone.’

‘And you’d no idea where he was staying?’

‘No.’

‘Absolutely sure about that?’

‘Categorically sure, DI Clarke.’

‘You seemed to think the meeting was urgent,’ Fox added.

‘You know as well as I do he was talking about making spurious claims about his workmates. Only natural we might want to discuss that.’

‘In a frank but friendly manner, I’m sure.’

Driscoll turned his head from Fox to Clarke. ‘Me and DI Fox have a bit of history – did he tell you that?’

‘Your Professional Standards file is in the next room. I’ve looked at it.’

A fresh wariness crept across Driscoll’s face. ‘Thought you’d moved on from Complaints,’ he said to Fox, who answered with a thin smile.

‘Look,’ Driscoll eventually said, ‘of course we wanted him to change his mind. We don’t piss on each other’s chips.’

‘What was your biggest fear?’ Fox asked.

‘In other words,’ Clarke added, ‘when he did start talking, who had most to lose?’

‘I think I need a lawyer,’ Driscoll said after a moment’s consider­ation.

‘Is that because you want to do a deal?’ Fox asked.

‘It’s because I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you, DI Fox. And right now, I’d throw you over a fence at the fucking zoo.’

‘I assume you’ve got a solicitor in mind?’ Clarke asked. Driscoll nodded and took out his phone.

‘Enjoy yourselves at Elemental?’ he asked them as he made the call.

Clarke and Fox left the room without replying.

They stood next to the kettle, each holding a mug of instant coffee. Most of the desks around them were piled high with box files, those that had been dealt with consigned to the floor by Jason Ritchie’s desk.

‘Tell me about Driscoll and you,’ Clarke said.