‘It’s a good walk, and he has to walk, doesn’t he? We’ve no car, how could we afford a car? He hasn’t a snowball in hell’s chance of getting a job with his record. There’s only my wage and his benefits and Mum’s pension. It’s no bloody picnic, I’ll tell you. Straight down there to the shopping centre, it’s in there. And when you find him, ask him to pick me up a packet of fags on his way home.’

The library is a light, modern building, its noticeboard splashed with posters advertising toddler story-times, knit-and-natter afternoons and a weekly board-game group, free tea and coffee, come and meet new friends.

Behind the desk a librarian in an electric wheelchair glances at Hagen before going back to her carping account of how she’s been stiffed on holiday pay. On the receiving end, her colleague appears bored. In the kindergarten section, a small child sits on its mother’s knee, sucking its thumb as she reads a story, both mother and child unperturbed by another child shouting for attention as he plunders the contents of a toy box.

The computer section is at the back of the room, through a gap in the stacks between Biography and Local History. A man is sitting at a terminal, engrossed in whatever is displaying on the screen. As Hagen walks towards him, the man senses movement, and without looking up, hits a single key on the keyboard. By the time Hagen’s standing behind him, the monitor’s showing the front page of Betfred.

‘Robert Gillard?’

‘Who’s asking?’ Gillard folds his skinny arms across his chest. His accent’s the same as his sister’s but he’s younger than her, dressed anonymously as she was in jeans and chain-store trainers and a grey T-shirt printed in red with the words Why Wait? A beige windcheater not quite old enough to be vintage – a dead man’s jacket from a charity shop – is draped on the back of his chair.

Hagen flashes his warrant card, and in disgust, Gillard shakes his head. He looks up at Hagen with feral animosity in his rat-like face.

‘She tell you I was here, did she? Stupid cow. She hasn’t the brains to keep it shut.’

‘Are you allowed to be here, Bobby? How many conditions are you breaking? Unsupervised access to a computer and close proximity to children? It doesn’t look good, does it?’

‘I don’t think I know you, do I? You new or something?’

‘I’m from out of area,’ says Hagen. ‘Your name’s come up in regard to an investigation. Have you been out of town recently?’