She nodded and disappeared, closing the door behind her.

Before this weekend, I had never been inside a police station except for a bike-coding day they’d held at Harrow Road last year. It was a thoroughly depressing place, as was this one. The interview room was a case in point. Bare walls, four nondescript plastic chairs and a plastic-topped table that was pock marked with cigarette burns. I guessed the table had been there long before the smoking ban.

There were no missed calls or messages on my phone. I wondered again what had happened with Ben at the country park. Maybe he’d clocked the detectives before I had, and panicked? Not smart to get caught by the police with a shotgun in a gym bag. I typed a new message to Ben.

Why did you leave the park earlier?

10.33 a.m. Me

The door opened again and DC Redford came in with a steaming cup of tea in a Styrofoam cup. She set the cup down in front of me and I sat up straighter, assuming we were about to start.

‘Is your colleague joining us? I asked her.

‘He’s just sorting a couple of things out,’ she said. ‘Back in a minute.’

She disappeared back into the corridor, closing the door behind her. I looked at my watch. Monday morning at 10.34 a.m. should mean a Year Ten class on Of Mice and Men, but instead I was here in a dingy police station waiting to be interviewed about Ben bloody Delaney. I stood up and went to the barred window. Beyond the police station car park there was a railway siding with tracks butted up next to each other, a dozen steel lines crossing my view in parallel from left to right. Grey high-rise blocks looming up behind. Drops of rain spattered the window.

My phone remained obstinately silent. I typed another text to Ben.

What the hell was this morning all about anyway? If you’ve got something to say to me, just say it

10.35 a.m. Me

The door opened again and Naylor came in with Redford behind him. They took the two seats opposite me, both holding white mugs of tea. Naylor’s mug had the words ‘Property of the BOSS’ in large red letters on its side. Redford had a brown cardboard folder and a notepad under her arm.

Naylor’s chair scraped loudly on the floor as he pulled it into the table.

‘Sorry about the delay,’ he said. ‘Let’s get started, shall we?’

He took a small digital Dictaphone out of his pocket and set it on the desk between us, a red light blinking on-off-on-off.

‘You don’t mind if I use this, do you? Saves me making notes.’

‘Of course.’