They walked between parked cars and across the busy Asda lot, then arrived at the garage. “Greg works in the shop,” said Blackstone, pointing past the pumps to the door. Banks made his way past the magazine rack and down an aisle flanked by crisps and sweet snack foods and walked to the counter. There were two young lads working there, both wearing jackets that bore the name of the brand of petrol they were selling. One had a name tag that read “GREG.” Both were busy.

Banks and Blackstone waited until Janson had finished with his customer, then introduced themselves. Greg didn’t react much; he seemed neither interested nor worried to find two police detectives asking if they could talk to him.

“I’ll just ask the boss if it’s all right to take an early break,” he said, then opened a door behind him and made his request. He must have received an affirmative answer because he came back, ducked under the counter at the far end, where the newspapers were, and accompanied them outside. “Mind if we go over there?” he said, pointing to a wall by the back of the Asda lot. “Only there’s no smoking near the garage, and I’m dying for a fag.”

Banks smiled and nodded. He remembered the feeling, though it came back to him only rarely these days. As far as he knew, Ken Blackstone had never smoked, but he seemed happy enough to go along with Greg’s request. Blackstone was coming to resemble Philip Larkin more and more every time Banks saw him. Or Eric Morecambe. He wasn’t sure which.

They reached the wall, and Greg sat down and lit up. He was of medium height, skinny and fair-haired, which matched the description they had. “What is it you want?” he said. “I’ve been a good boy lately.”

“I’m sure you have,” said Banks. “But we want to talk to you about Eastvale. Hollyfield Lane.”

Greg blew out smoke and nodded slowly. “That’s all behind me now,” he said. “I know you lot have a hard time believing anyone can turn his life around, but that’s what I’ve done. I’ve got a decent job, a nice little flat and a girlfriend, and things are going really well for me.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Banks. “And, believe it or not, I’m not here to judge you or in any way ruin what you’ve got going. I’m not interested in what drugs you did or didn’t take or sell. Do you admit you were a cuckoo in Eastvale?”

“Be a fool to deny it, wouldn’t I, as it’s probably on record? That was obviously what the police were interested in when they arrested us, but I wasn’t carrying enough to get done for dealing.”

“There’s definitely a crackdown on county lines,” Banks said. “Who was the gangmaster?”