‘The other day. He said he was finding some file, but he looked proper guilty.’

‘Well, maybe, but that doesn’t mean he’s a thief. Are you absolutely sure your book’s not at home?’

‘I checked. Believe me, I turned the place upside-down. I didn’t get to bed till two.’ Judging by the state of her desk, she’d turned that upside-down too.

Joseph Blake walked into the main office at that moment, wearing brothel-creepers and a huge pair of earphones, clutching his brown leather briefcase. He’d quiffed his floppy hair today; he looked like a ten-year-old Teddy boy wearing his father’s clothes.

‘Bloody bastard.’

I restrained Donna from marching straight out and confronting him. But, gazing at Joseph thoughtfully, I wondered again why Charlie didn’t want to let him go. ‘It could be him, I guess.’

We watched an oblivious Joseph take off his Crombie coat and hang it carefully on the coat-stand in the corner. He smoothed back his hair and sat down at his desk, opening up a copy of the Daily Telegraph.

‘Jus’ take a look, man. He’s well pretentious. There’s a name for types like him down my way.’ Donna glowered at him through the glass. ‘I’m going to give him a piece of –’

‘Let me deal with this, Donna, okay? It’s not good, I know – but it’s hardly the crime of the century.’

‘Whatever,’ she shrugged. ‘It’s just – he makes me properly uncomfortable, d’you know what I mean? It’s not the same vibe out there since he came back.’

‘Look, go and get yourself a coffee. I’ll have a chat with him.’

‘I can’t leave now. I’m waiting for Fergie’s people to call back.’

So in the end I took Joseph out with me, dodging the black cabs and the couriers, back to Crepey Lips’s café on The Cut.

‘Are your eggs free-range?’ Joseph asked the waitress, whose roots were oily-black against the bright peroxide.

She smirked. ‘They’re out of a box, pet, that’s all I know.’

‘Yes, but is it a free-range box?’

‘Joseph, it’s a caff, not the flipping Ivy.’ I suddenly felt like a mother with a truculent teenager in tow. ‘Have something else. Have a bacon roll.’

He looked at me like I was mad. ‘I don’t eat meat. I’ll just have tea and toast. Brown toast, green tea, please.’

‘You can have white bread and brown tea or none at all, pet.’

I fumbled for my cigarettes to hide my smile. He looked at them pointedly and gave a little cough. Every bit of sympathy I had left for him flew out the door.

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I was thinking, we could do a show about intensive farming.’

The waitress plonked my coffee down in front of me.