Grace checked the weekend’s weather on his phone. The judge had been right, the forecast was sunny, but it was the shipping forecast that Roy was most interested in at the moment. Last time he’d gone on a fishing trip had been with a group of colleagues a few years ago, and the sea had been unpleasantly choppy. The smell of the freshly caught fish lying on the deck, exhaust fumes and the heavy swell had combined to sandbag him. After throwing up, he’d spent the next six hours on a bunk down below, his brain feeling like it was rolling around inside his skull, pretty much wishing he was dead. His only consolation had been former Detective Superintendent Nick Sloan, cheerfully telling him not to worry, that Lord Nelson used to get seasick, too.

But, despite the horrific memory, he was delighted Bruno actually wanted to do something with him – and something different from being holed-up in his bedroom playing computer games all weekend. So he had pre-armed himself with seasick tablets and a wristband that supposedly helped and was now praying for light wind, or preferably no wind at all.

To his relief, the forecast was benign. Light to moderate decreasing light; sea state calm.

‘He’s happy,’ Branson said, shoving his phone into his pocket.

‘CPS?’

‘Yep. Reckons the jury is with Cork.’

‘I thought that QC put up a spirited closing.’

Branson shrugged as they walked in past the visitors’ reception. ‘Yeah, well, these briefs have to say something to justify the money they charge,’ he quipped.

Grace smiled.

‘You off home, Roy? Fancy a quick jar?’

‘Would have loved to, but I’ve got a briefing on Op Canoe at 6 p.m. and I need to get up to speed on anything that’s happened today – although from the lack of traffic on my phone, it doesn’t seem much.’

‘That’s because you don’t have me as the SIO.’

Grace smiled again. ‘You’re full of it, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah, I’m in a good mood. I scent blood, we’re going to win!’

Grace gave him a sideways glance as they headed up the hill of the sprawling Police HQ campus. ‘Just remember, it ain’t over until it’s over.’

‘Hopefully the judge’ll hammer the final nail into Gready’s coffin when he sums up on Tuesday.’

‘I don’t want to piss on your parade, matey, but two things to bear in mind while you’re all loved up with Siobhan over the weekend. First is that judges aren’t allowed to direct juries to convict – and if they are not utterly impartial, it gives the defence grounds for an appeal. Second is something you’ll learn from time in this game – juries are totally unpredictable.’

‘Want to have a bet on the result?’ Glenn asked. ‘A friendly fiver?’