I felt Edie touch my arm. It didn’t change a thing.

‘Only the usual,’ the sergeant said. ‘A bucket that was used for a toilet. Remains of food – some of it looks like it was bought back in the Balkans. So your man brought in a load, but they were long gone by the time we found the body. But I’ll get my SIO to have a word with you, ma’am.’

The sergeant climbed into the back of the lorry. Whitestone and Edie watched the HRP being loaded into the ambulance. The traffic on the other side of the motorway had ground to a complete standstill. People were getting out of their cars. A crowd had gathered on the central reservation, phones held in front of their faces, bright white lights shining, collecting their souvenirs.

I began walking towards them, my fists clenched by my side, feeling my throat choke with rage and grief.

Here were the members of the public that Billy Greene had served. Here were the ordinary men and women that we are sworn to protect without fear or favour. Here were the good honest citizens who would call us in the middle of the night if someone was kicking down their front door.

I realised that I had wondered for a long time if they were worth it. And now I had my answer.

‘Max?’ Whitestone said, and began giving me instructions about liaising with the Port of Dover and Kent Police.

But I was not interested.

I kept walking towards the ghouls in the middle of the motorway.

I was done.

‘You’re early,’ Mrs Murphy said. ‘Everything all right?’

I was unsure of what to say, unsure how to explain it, unsure of what would happen next in my life. I felt I had lost my moorings, as though I had been cut adrift from the only thing that I was ever any good at.

Stan padded across the loft towards me, his tail wagging his pleasure at my unscheduled appearance. I crouched down beside my dog and let my fingertips run through fur that was softer than silk. He looked at me with a love that I did not deserve.

‘I just wanted to be home,’ I said.

That was it. That was all. That was everything.

Mrs Murphy nodded.

‘Best place for you,’ she said. ‘The policeman on the news down there in Kent – was that your colleague?’

I nodded, not looking at her, my hands on Stan. Dasher had been sleeping in Stan’s basket and he stirred himself to greet me with his saucepot smile.

I pressed my face against the Labrador-Retriever’s beautiful golden head. He grinned at me as if it was a wonderful life.

‘A terrible thing,’ Mrs Murphy said. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? Then I’ll be off to pick up our Scout.’

‘I’ll come to the school with you,’ I said.