“Well, you’re bigger, and trained, and you have more hands. But I’m motivated, because this is in the top three of things I have ever put in my mouth. Mph.”

Aaron wanted, urgently, to ask about the other two. He resisted, despite his companion’s uninhibited moan, and just sipped his wine and enjoyed Joel’s near-sexual relationship with his pudding until the plate was scraped clean.

“That was amazing,” Joel said, accepting that it was over with clear reluctance. “You know how to treat a man.”

“This and Shafi’s are my favourite places in London.”

“I can see why. Thank you for sharing them with me.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them both. I may never be able to eat here again without hearing the noises you were just making, but it’s a small price to pay.”

Joel stuck out his tongue, as if that had been banter rather than a devastating truth. Aaron’s toes curled in his shoes. “I suppose we should talk now.”

***

HE LET THEM BOTH IN to his flat, and poured whisky. It might be unwise on top of two glasses of wine, but he wasn’t sure if things could possibly go any more wrong.

Joel took the seat he had last time, and clutched the glass Aaron handed him. “I’ll be honest,” he said. “I’m frightened. And you’re not going to tell me I’ve nothing to worry about, are you?”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

Joel nodded slowly, and knocked back half the whisky in a swallow. “Gah. Why do people say that helps? It doesn’t help. All right, then, tell me what I do have to worry about.”

“I will, but I’m not sure where to start.”

“The beginning?”

“I don’t know where that is, unfortunately. I feel as though I was dropped into this half way through.”

“Then start with your cousin Paul. Who I’m sure you said was going to leave me alone, so what’s this letter about?”

Aaron grimaced. “Paul doesn’t like me, and I’m sure he’s angry with you, but he’s far lazier than he is vindictive. This letter is out of character.”

“Well, it would be: he didn’t write it,” Joel said. “It was dictated to him.”

Aaron had a bad feeling he was right about that, but he said anyway, “Based on—?”

“Oh, look at it, it goes in waves. Scribble, pause, scribble, pause. It just looks dictated, all right? And anyway, is that how your man-about-town cousin usually expresses himself? It sounds like a lawyer talking.”

“Not a lawyer,” Aaron said reluctantly. “A policeman.”

“... Shit.”

“Yes.”

“Oh God. Just tell me.”

Aaron took a deep breath. “Paper number seven. The man you said was a monster, with no moral compass and blood on his hands. He’s my superior officer. Divisional Detective Inspector Colthorne, the head of G Division.”