This clearly threw the other man, and for one second Hobbes thought he’d managed it. But instead Nicholas firmed his jaw and spoke clearly: ‘No. No, is the answer.’

It was his final word. Nicholas stood up from his seat and was about to make his way towards the door, when he paused and said, ‘May I keep my father’s note?’

‘Of course. It’s not police property.’

Nicholas held the inspector’s gaze for one second longer, then left the room, the door banging to after him.

Latimer waited a moment, and then said, ‘So that’s that then. Back to normal.’

‘Perhaps …’

‘How do you mean?’

He shrugged and smiled a little, and she looked at him askance, and said, ‘Bloody hell, you want to break in at night, don’t you, when no one’s around? With a pickaxe and a shovel, and do the job yourself. Is that it?’

‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure.’

‘Holy shit. I can just see you doing it, covered with dust, hands blistered.’

‘Whatever it takes.’

Latimer tilted her head. ‘You’re a damn good copper, Hobbes, but a fool with it,’ she said, with a fake movie-star accent to soften the blow. It worked a little. Still, he knew what he was, and he knew how people regarded him.

He smiled back. ‘Let’s sit here a while longer, shall we?’

‘And do what?’

‘Chat, discuss your current cases, your plans for the future.’

She looked at him as though he were cracked in the head. ‘Well, I’d like Fairfax to be back at work, at the least.’

‘Yes, yes. I was trying to write him a letter, just this morning.’

‘Fairfax? Saying what?’

‘I’m not sure. I kept getting it wrong, having to start again.’

‘You know he’s moved back into his mum’s house?’

‘Where is that?’

‘Deptford.’

‘Get me the address, will you?’

‘Sure. If you think it’ll do any good.’

Hobbes looked aside. ‘The thing is, Meg, nobody likes being under suspicion.’

‘I’m sorry, what? Oh, you mean the son? Graves?’

‘It eats away at them. Ah! Here we are …’

The door of the interview room opened and Nicholas Graves walked back inside. He was breathing heavily, almost a continual heaving sigh, and dots of sweat had broken out at his high temples. He spoke directly to Hobbes.

‘Will you promise, if you dig up the cellar floor and find no sign of a dead body … is that it? Will you then leave me, and my family, and our house, alone? Will you?’

The inspector smiled. ‘I give you my word.’

Nicholas looked relieved. But Hobbes thought he saw something else in the man’s eyes: a kind of fear.

It lasted a moment only.

Too Much Noise

DS Talbot from the Peckham station gave Hobbes a tour of the local housing units that had been taken over by squatters. Sally Talbot was the new breed of policewoman, a no-nonsense professional playing strictly by the rules, while doing whatever needed doing when people’s backs were turned. ‘One foot on the greasy ladder, and no fat bastard up top is going to drag me back down.’ It was the second time in half an hour that he’d heard her say as much. But he let it pass. She was ex-Charing Cross nick, as he was, and he was used to her outbursts.