The smaller man, the desk sergeant, shrugged his shoulders, and said: ‘Who gives a toss? I was following orders from the Chief Constable himself, Mr Limmington. I thought you knew about it.’

Limmington bit his lip and turned away abruptly. The Chief Constable, eh? Well, the Home Secretary would have to know about that. But a little voice in the back of his mind told him that, somehow, the Home Secretary already knew.

He made his way down to the interview rooms with a stony expression on his face. He had a feeling on him that his little celebration had been premature. He had made the usual mistake most people made with the Cavanaghs.

He had counted his chickens well before they had hatched.

‘Hello, Mr Limmington. Any chance of a cup of tea?’

Boysie’s face was so open and ingenuous that despite himself Harry Limmington smiled. Of the twins, he had always liked Boysie. Even as a young tearaway, he’d had a way with him. Unlike his twin brother who was a different kettle of fish altogether.

‘I’ll arrange some tea, Boysie, don’t fret. I wanted to have another word with you, on your own like.’

Boysie sat back on the wooden chair and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyebrows raised as if listening intently. Harry Limmington sat opposite him and, motioning for the young PC to leave the room, he smiled. His best smile.

‘You realise that you’re going down for a long time, don’t you, Boysie? A long, long time. Murder is a serious charge. Now I won’t beat about the bush, I’ll be straight with you. I know your brother is a very strange individual. I know more about you two than you think. Now your uncle is getting on a bit, he won’t do the stretch as easily as you two. More’n likely he’ll die inside, in some prison hospital, without his family around him.’ He paused to let this sink in.

‘I think that between us we could come to some arrangement. Your cousin Delia has been sporting bruises, so has her nipper. Oh, I can find out anything if I want to. I can make it look like you and Danny boy went round there to see him friendly like and it just got out of hand. But I need your signature on a piece of paper to do that. You could save yourself, your uncle and a lot of people grief by keeping your head down, putting your hand up and carrying the can. What do you say, Boysie?’