‘With?’ The woman folds her arms.

‘Janine,’ I say. ‘Cullen.’

At this she checks her computer, then becomes a little less tense. ‘She’ll be in in a few minutes. Take a seat, Mr —?’

‘Shute,’ I say. ‘More like the slide than the gun.’

She looks at me unimpressed and then indicates a row of battered chairs covered in blue cloth, spilling stuffing from their corners. ‘You can sit.’

There are magazines stacked in a neat pile on a coffee table. I sit and flick through them. Solicitors Journal. Law Society Gazette. The Lawyer. Counsel magazine. Legal Action Group. There is nothing here that I can imagine any visitor wanting to read. I flick through some back issues of the Gazette and start reading an article written by a barrister complaining about legal aid fees. Half a Shirt Anyone? is the strapline and it is the most interesting thing about it.

Twenty minutes pass in slow motion before Jan appears at the door.

‘Xander. I didn’t think you were going to come, if I’m honest,’ she says, dragging a wheelie case in behind her with one hand and some carrier bags stuffed with files in the other. Her hair is in a short bronzed plait. The freckles are still a surprise in her face.

‘Neither did I,’ I reply. I stand to shake her hand before remembering that mine is grubby. Her own are occupied and this thankfully goes unnoticed.

‘Come through,’ she says, and leads the way behind the reception desk through a glazed door. The lights come on automatically as we walk through. I think about helping her with the bags she is struggling with but I’m not sure what the etiquette is any more. The office is remarkable only for its clutter. There are files of papers everywhere, on the floor, on shelves, on the two desks at either end of the room.

‘Take a seat if you can find an empty one.’

I sit and wait for her to do the same.

‘So that copper, Conway, is it? He’s got a right hard-on for you, hasn’t he? What did you ever do to him?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I get on better with Blake.’

‘Yeah. Anyway, your upcoming interview. They’ve given us a bit more disclosure so this time we might have to actually go full-comment on this one, depending, obviously.’

‘Depending on what?’ I say, puzzled.

‘On what your version is.’

I look at her, waiting to say more but she seems to be doing the same. Finally, she brushes a stray hair over an ear and unsheaths a Bic.

‘Well then?’

‘Well what?’ I say.

‘What’s your version?’

‘My version is that I didn’t do it.’