‘Well I am getting the fuck out of here unless you level with me. We can do this job together. I can and want to help you, but I need some honesty. Why are you so emotionless?’

Tom sighed and massaged his temples with his fingers.

‘Look. I don’t like talking about it because it scares the shit out of me.’ The words came slowly, as though he needed to drag each and every one out. ‘I don’t like what I am, but I’ve learned to deal with it. I deal with it by always thinking what my foster father would want me to do. That way I always do the right thing.’ He spoke quietly and evenly, avoiding eye contact. He wasn’t usually given to many emotions, but a feeling of anxiety was beginning to bubble in his stomach. He hated confronting who he was.

‘Because of what happened to me in Bosnia I have no feelings, Pet. Nothing. In Afghanistan I killed twenty-eight people and I didn’t feel a fucking thing. Nothing. Not once. No elation, no remorse, no fear. Nothing. I don’t like talking about who I am because I have no. Fucking. Idea… Who I am.’

Strangely and unusually, Tom almost felt a sense of relief at blurting out his deepest demons, even to a near-stranger.

Pet’s face softened visibly. ‘Jesus, that explains it. You can’t blame yourself for this, Tom. You are a good man and your foster father is obviously a good man.’

There was a long silence as they both looked at each other, the tension in the room dissipating palpably. Tom let out a sigh before breaking the impasse.

‘We should get some rest. It’s after two and there’s a lot to do tomorrow. I can run you back home if you like?’

Pet paused for a second. ‘If it’s okay with you, I’ll stay here. I don’t fancy being alone and it’s late. I’ll take the left-hand bed.’

Tom shrugged with a smile. ‘Fine by me.’

Avoiding Tom’s gaze, Pet removed her jacket and cast it on the floor. She sat on the bed and removed her combat trousers and sneakers and climbed beneath the duvet, taking her glasses off and setting them on the bedside table. She snuggled down beneath the bedclothes and said, ‘Goodnight, Detective.’

‘Goodnight, Pet.’

Tom removed his shoes, socks, and trousers, climbed under the covers and settled down. Once again, he considered his actions that day. Was Pet right? Was he really a cold, emotionless machine? It wasn’t a comforting thought, but he still felt nothing, despite seeing what he realised must have been horrifying sights. Resisting the urge to replay the day further, he relied on his military ability to sleep, whatever the circumstances. As expected, it came to him immediately.

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