Carmella took a step towards them, her arm outstretched, and Larry stepped in front of his girlfriend and pulled out a flick-knife. Carmella froze.

‘Larry? What are you doing?’ Alice cried.

Patrick and Carmella both put their palms up. Larry moved the knife from side to side, his eyes wild and shining with panic. ‘Leave her alone.’

‘Come on, Larry,’ Patrick said quietly. ‘Don’t be a dickhead.’

‘I’m not scared to use this,’ Larry said, jerking the knife from side to side, but his voice betrayed him.

‘Do you really want to go prison? They’d love you in there. Nice boy like you.’

Larry stopped swinging the knife and Patrick saw his opportunity, going in fast – grabbing the wrist that held the knife, grateful that his instincts were correct as Larry put up little resistance. Patrick pulled the boy’s arm behind his back and pushed it upwards, making Larry gasp in pain and drop the knife. Carmella darted in and snapped handcuffs over his wrists.

‘You got any weapons?’ Patrick asked Alice, who stood trembling by the filthy window.

She shook her head meekly.

He held up his handcuffs. ‘So I won’t be needing these?’

As they led the teenagers out to the car, Patrick caught the eye of the guy with the staffie. Jerome Smith. He had a wicked smile on his lips. He noticed Larry looking at him too.

‘Friend of yours?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Larry said quietly. ‘He’s a twat.’

Patrick put his hand on Larry’s head and eased him into the car. When he looked back up, Smith was gone, leaving just a steaming dog turd on the pavement to show he and his terrier had been there.

Patrick leaned on the coffee machine, wondering why he still bothered drinking this muck when its placebo effect, which relied on the drinker believing it was real coffee containing real caffeine, had long ceased working.

‘Patrick.’

It was Suzanne. She looked like she needed a hug, gorgeous and vulnerable. He stared at her lips then inwardly admonished himself. What was he thinking?

‘Update, please.’

He pulled the coffee out of the machine, some of the diarrhea-brown liquid slopping over his fingers.

‘Of course. We’ve got Alice Philips in interview room two and Larry Gould in four. We’re waiting for the appropriate adults to turn up. Last time, Alice had her neighbour but now she wants us to provide someone. Same with Larry. I’m going to alternate interviews.’

‘OK, good. Keep me posted, alright?’

She headed back to her office and Patrick checked his watch. He was pleased that the appropriate adults weren’t here yet. He wasn’t rushing to talk to the two teenagers – he wanted them to have time to fret, to imagine the worst. He took his coffee back to his desk and waited.

Winkler walked past and gave Patrick a wink.

‘Still think those kids did it?’ he said, pausing by the desk.