‘Meg was asking after you.’

Fairfax pursed his lips.

‘She’s worried. She’d love to see you.’

‘Latimer’s an old cow, she really is. What else has she got to do but worry?’

‘Ah, Jesus.’

‘What? What now?’

‘You’re still on the force, DC Fairfax.’

‘Barely.’

‘I won’t have you being disrespectful of a senior officer.’

A sneer took over the man’s face. But then he relented, and muttered, ‘Yeah, I shouldn’t have said that. Meg’s all right, actually.’ He stood up and pushed past Hobbes, making for the doorway. Hobbes followed him into the kitchen, where Fairfax was searching inside the fridge, and cursing. ‘Oh, shit. There’s none left. No fuckin’ beer.’

‘Sit down, Tommy. Come on. That’s an order.’

‘I told her to keep it stocked—’

‘Sit down!’

There was sufficient force in the inspector’s voice to compel Fairfax to take a seat at the kitchen table. He sat there with his arms propped up and his head lowered into his hands. He groaned and started to speak, but then stopped. And groaned some more, quieter now. Some internal sadness had taken him over.

Hobbes sat down at an angle to him. He placed the folder on the tabletop, saying, ‘This is a case I’m working on.’

‘And?’ More a grunt than a word.

‘I thought you might take a look.’

‘A look? Is that it?’

‘I need your help. A fresh eye.’

‘Come on, Guv. I can’t.’

‘All I want—’

‘I’m done. Do yer hear me? I am done. Done with it all. No more.’

‘A setback, that’s all—’

‘No!’

He pushed his chair away from the table and made to get up, but Hobbes reached out, grabbed his wrist and held him there. The two men stared at each other, neither giving in. Hobbes felt his fingers tightening around flesh and bone. So close, he could smell the unwashed stench of Fairfax, the cigs, the drinking, a splash of Aramis to try to cover it, a pointless exercise.

‘You did a good thing, Tommy. You tracked down a cop.’ Fairfax grimaced, hearing this. Hobbes kept on: ‘A bad cop. A killer. You got a confession out of him.’

‘I beat him up to get it, damn near killed him.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘I had a tyre-iron in my hand!’

Hobbes blew out a breath. The lecture was having little effect, but he had nothing else to offer, except persistence. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Tommy. I’m not leaving.’

‘I can’t—’ But Fairfax stopped speaking. His mouth trembled.

‘You can’t what?’

‘I can’t fuckin’ stand myself.’

The words were said in quiet anger. It was the truth, Hobbes saw that, and he let the statement remain unanswered. Fairfax sat down and stared at the table, his body limp in the chair. Hobbes looked at him. He couldn’t help feeling angry, seeing the younger man like that. It sickened him. But he mustn’t let anger get the upper hand.

He made a decision. ‘Tommy, I’m going to tell you the truth.’