Cooper looked at the questionnaire again. ‘Look how this one’s spelled “fruit-flavoured”.’

‘I can’t believe they’re so ignorant. What happened to the education system?’

‘And the handwriting’s appalling. A graphologist would have a field day with this. He’d probably say it was written by some homicidal psychopath.’

Rennie looked over Cooper’s shoulder and frowned. Then he began desperately flicking through the other questionnaires. Some of them were written in garish purple ink, some had obscene drawings scribbled in the margins. One had an insulting cartoon of the Chief Superintendent. Another had letters cut from newspaper headlines pasted on to it to form a message. It read: ‘You have ten minutes to evacuate the canteen before the steak and kidney pie explodes.’

‘Psychopath would describe just about everybody in this station,’ said Rennie sourly. ‘There isn’t a single one that’s been filled out properly.’

Cooper didn’t respond. He was staring at the questionnaire form in his hand. He was holding it so tightly that the paper crumpled and almost tore between his fingers.

‘Er, Sarge?’ he said. ‘Can I keep this one?’

Rennie shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. They’re no use to me at all.’

Todd Weenink was going to the cattle market, too. He wasn’t making any preparations, though, except to eat a quick sandwich. Bits of tomato had slipped out of the bread and dropped on to his desk. Ben Cooper tapped him on the shoulder and signalled with his eyes. Neither of them spoke until they were in the corridor.

‘What’s up, Ben?’

‘Come across the road. We’re going for a coffee.’

‘What if I don’t want one?’

Weenink tried to slow down, but Cooper gripped his elbow and kept moving. ‘You’re coming anyway,’ he said.

‘Ben, you’re getting a bit forceful all of a sudden. I’m not sure I like it, mate.’

‘We’ve got some talking to do.’

‘Oh, Christ. Do you never get sick of talking?’

May’s Cafe was off West Street, in a lane running steeply downhill to the Clappergate shopping centre. It was comfortable, without being too appealing to the tourists. A sign in the window said ‘Ristorante Italiano’, but it was hand-painted in a bit of white gloss left over from when the kitchen walls were last redecorated, and it didn’t look very convincing.