‘But I thought we had a deal,’ he said to me.

I shrugged.

‘My SIO here doesn’t want a deal,’ I said.

Whitestone looked at Hill like he was something she had almost stepped in.

‘You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court,’ she said.

‘Wait, wait,’ he said, desperately looking at me.

‘Anything you do say may be given in evidence,’ Whitestone continued. ‘Do you understand?’

He shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand anything. What is this? Some kind of good-cop-bad-cop routine?’

He took a shaky step towards Whitestone.

‘Nice and calm now,’ murmured the uniformed officer, narrowing her eyes, and he came no closer.

‘I was going to be your grass,’ he said to me.

‘Criminal Informant,’ I said. ‘You were going to be my CI. That was the initial plan. “Grass” sounds derogatory. And when you are smuggling people into the country, you don’t get to look down on anyone. But I spoke to my Senior Investigating Officer, DCI Whitestone here, and she’s not interested.’

‘Because you told DC Wolfe that you never saw the individual we’re looking for,’ Whitestone told Hill. ‘And – as I understand it – you don’t sound remotely optimistic about ever seeing him again.’ She showed him her empty hands. ‘So what good are you to me, Mr Hill?’

‘But I was going to work for you!’ he protested.

‘What do they hand out for trafficking these days, Max?’ Whitestone asked. ‘Fourteen years?’

‘I wasn’t trafficking anyone,’ Hill protested. ‘You think those people were coming to this country against their will? You think anyone had to hold a gun to their hijabs? It’s their wildest dream to get here!’

‘Spare us the subtle distinction between trafficking and smuggling,’ Whitestone said. ‘If your passengers hadn’t been spooked by all those blue lights on the motorway, you would have collected money for importing people who have no right to be here.’

Lee Hill looked from me to Whitestone and back again.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘DCI Whitestone doesn’t think you’ll deliver the goods.’

‘If we don’t lock you up, all you’re ever going to deliver is another lorryload of illegal migrants,’ Whitestone said. She nodded to the uniformed officer and took a step towards the holding cell door.

‘Show me the photo again!’ Hill said. ‘Please.’

I laughed.

‘Why? So you can tell me – oh, yeah, now I remember – I saw him munching a croque-monsieur in Dunkirk last week?’

‘No lies,’ Whitestone said, so quietly that Hill looked at her and could not look away. ‘If you are our CI, then you never tell us a lie or I will cheerfully watch you buried alive.’

‘No lies,’ Hill agreed.