‘Good, so we understand each other, Meg. As I said, it is very simple. If you ever want to see Laura again – alive – all that has to happen is your jury foreman, at the end of the trial, has to say just two words – and repeat them five times, for each of the counts on which Mr Gready is indicted.’

She did not respond.

‘You know what they are, don’t you, Meg?’

She remained silent. She knew.

But he said them all the same, his voice lowering to a whisper. It grated like a wood saw.

‘Not guilty.’

42

Saturday 11 May

After his evening meal, which he had barely touched, Mickey left his cell to go for a walk around before lockdown. He didn’t notice anyone on the way, didn’t want to talk to anyone. He returned, finally, and perched, heavy-hearted, on the edge of his bunk, staring at the photograph of Stuie on the wall beside him. The photo that had always made him smile, the last thing he saw at night and the image that greeted him each morning. Stuie in the set of chef’s whites he’d bought online, ready for his duties in the fish and chip shop.

Stuie was always online, looking at items on Gumtree, eBay and Catawiki mostly, but rarely actually buying anything. For him, the excitement – and challenge – was always to see how long he could stay in the auction without getting caught out and ending up as the final purchaser.

But this chef’s outfit was something he’d hankered after ever since Mickey had first told him their plans for the chippie. And it was the full monty. Toque, double-breasted white tunic, apron, black and white houndstooth-checked trousers, and he had taken to wearing it whenever he went into the kitchen. In this photograph he was standing upright, proudly posing, the tall white hat as lopsided as his happy grin.

Once again Mickey was fighting back tears. Who the hell had done this? When he found them, he would rip their heads off – after he had torn off every other appendage first. He punched the wall in frustration, then punched it again.

‘Do you want to talk, Mickey?’ said his cellmate, from the bunk above him. Mickey hadn’t even noticed he was there.

‘No, I don’t want to talk, I want to fucking do something. I’ve gotta find out who did this – find out and—’

He was interrupted by a figure stepping in through the open doorway. It was one of the officers he liked, and who had been sympathetic towards him. ‘You’ve got a visitor, Mickey,’ he said.

Starr frowned. It was 7.30 p.m. and visiting time had ended several hours ago. ‘It must be the solicitor,’ he said.