Joel eyed him malevolently. “I hope that was a compliment.”

“Look, you’re right,” Fowler said. “I can’t trust you, or I can’t quite trust you, not because of you, but because of what you purport to do. I’d like to believe it’s not a fraud, very much.” That had a ring of truth, and more than truth. It sounded almost yearning, and Fowler paused for a second before he went on. “But as you said, believing things because one would like them to be true is a fool’s game. So I hope you will do the test. I would like you to show me beyond all doubt that you really do have this remarkable gift, because then I will know how to think about you.”

“And where does that take us?” Joel asked, and the words came out challenging. “If you decide you can trust me—what happens then, Mr. Detective Sergeant?”

Fowler gave a little inhalation, just audible. Their eyes were locked. “Then, I suppose, we could address the fact that you don’t trust me.”

Joel paused on that for a moment, and finally said, “It’s not personal.”

“You have reason to distrust the police. I grasp that.”

I think you’re all right, Joel wanted to say. I really do. It’s just the little voice at the back of my mind, the one that told me to keep low on the battlefield, reminding me how fucked I could be if you’re not.

He met Fowler’s gaze, deliberately. He picked up his pint and drained it, gulping the beer down, then put it on the table with a decisive clink.

“Sod it,” he said. “I’m in.”

***

IT FELT A BIT OF AN anticlimax that he then had to wait over a week to hear anything more.

It was fine. He worked hard on the writing, and found he was adjusting to the drag and weight and inflexibility of the hook to the point where his handwriting was looking almost respectable. He did a lot of arm exercises, and he saw a fair few clients. His bank balance ticked gently upwards. Not fast enough—it might be two or three years yet—but if he became more widely known he could perhaps increase his rates. Or even get a steady income. Consultant to the Metropolitan Police drifted across his mind a couple of times.

And then Fowler finally sent him a note, making a three-hour appointment, and Joel tried very hard not to feel excited.