“I thought, what about putting Danny Boy in a line-up? Last resort, you know? His brief starts screaming, which makes us think it’s definitely going to be a good idea. So we bring in Mr. Knight and bugger me if he doesn’t pick him out straight away. He remembers him because of his car. A Mercedes convertible. He noticed it because the arrogant little shit had parked it right outside our Mr. Knight’s house and he was just pulling away when our witness arrived home from work. Can you believe the conceit of the man? He thinks he’s come so far from the East End that he’s invincible. And our Mr. Knight never thought to mention it because he didn’t look like he was in a hurry and he didn’t have any blood on him that he could see. Well, of course he didn’t, did he? He’s a professional. He knew he was going there to take part in a very bloody murder—he’d either have stripped or worn disposable overalls.

“Then our prize witness says, well, we can’t blame him, can we? I mean, murderers don’t drive around in top of the range Mercs like hospital consultants, do they?

“Soon as Danny Boy realizes he’s been fingered, he starts shitting it. He knows he’s in the frame for murder. So he decides it’s time to get out from under. He does nothing more than give us his sidekick, the thug who actually did the killing. King was just there to get him in and give the instructions about the stage setting. Can you believe it?

“Once he started talking, we couldn’t get him to stop. His brief was practically in tears. We even found out you had a second lucky escape. You was attacked the night before, wasn’t you? It wasn’t some accidental trip over a wall that sliced your face up, was it? It was one of Danny King’s little thugs, hired to scare you off.”

Lindsay couldn’t prevent a dry laugh spilling down the line. “Is that what he told you? Somebody’s been winding him up. Yes, somebody tried to put my lights out with a baseball bat, but he didn’t connect, so I legged it. That’s when I really did trip over a wall. So if Danny got told I’d been cut, somebody ripped him off.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke,” the policewoman had said. “Arrogant, vain, stupid as well. He doesn’t even realize that he still gets charged with murder even though it wasn’t him who did the actual killing. Joint enterprise, it’s called. We’ve got him, nailed down at all four corners. Not even the CPS can walk away from it now.”