Apart from his creepy granddaughter, I thought. Although she might be worth talking to, as well.

‘It’s a pity we can’t sniff people out like the rivers can,’ I said.

‘I for one am quite glad that that particular ability appears limited to them,’ said Nightingale. ‘I feel our work has become quite complicated enough as it is. Still, as you say . . .’

The white boys knew they had my attention now, but hesitated – that’s the trouble with being a racist in the white heartlands, you don’t get a lot of practical experience. I gave them a quizzical look, just to fuck with them a bit.

They broke eye contact first. The tall one in the sunglasses turned to his friend and said something, then they both looked at me and sniggered.

What are we, I thought, twelve? So I laughed. It wasn’t a genuine laugh but they weren’t to know that. They both stared at me and then turned away when I didn’t break eye contact. I wanted to provoke them. I wanted to give them a smacking they wouldn’t forget.

‘Peter?’ asked Nightingale and I realised I hadn’t been listening.

At the very least I wanted to show them my warrant card and mess with their preconceptions. But you can’t do that sort of thing, because there’s always a chance you’ll end up in a fight. And then you’ll have to arrest them. Which, never mind the ethical issues surrounding the abuse of power, results in a ton of paperwork. Not to mention I was way off my manor, so it would piss off West Mercia Police who probably felt they had better things to waste their time on right now, thank you very much. So I took a deep breath and looked away.

That’s me – Peter Grant, a credit to his territorial policing agency.

‘Sorry sir,’ I said. ‘I was distracted.’

‘I asked how you were feeling,’ said Nightingale.

‘Fine, sir,’ I said.

‘Glad to hear that,’ he said.

I tensed, hearing the chairs scrape as the boys got to their feet, but they passed on the other side of the table and headed towards the main entrance.

‘I’d better get back,’ I said. ‘I need to get some actions actioned.’

Outside, the sun was frying the car park and my two friends from the café were attempting to lean nonchalantly against the side of a blue Nissan Micra without burning themselves. I wondered whether they were waiting for me, or just didn’t have anywhere else to go – it’s possible they didn’t know either.

The tall one with the sunglasses lit up a Silk Cut and took an aggressive drag.