‘We need you to come to the station and answer some questions.’ Elly Hale stood side by side with her colleague.

‘I just found out my dad’s dead. How did you even know I was here?’ He looked over Palmer’s shoulder and saw Francesca standing there looking smug.

‘Oh, I see, it’s like that,’ Andrew hissed at his aunt as he plunged his hands into his pockets, so that the officers wouldn’t see he had balled his fists.

‘I’m sure it won’t take very long.’ Palmer led the way along the corridor towards the lift. ‘It’s procedure to talk to the family. Nothing more.’

‘Why do we need to do that at the station then?’ Andrew was suspicious. He’d had dealings with the police enough times to know they couldn’t be trusted.

Palmer pressed the button on the lift and chose to ignore the question. He had smelt alcohol on the man’s breath and had taken an instant dislike to him. Andrew could suffer in silence.

Barrett ordered the printouts of Andrew Wade’s criminal record and sat looking at the scruffy man opposite. He looked like he hadn’t slept for several days, but Barrett knew it was the look of an alcoholic and drug user, rather than the appearance of someone suffering from insomnia. He’d had many dealings with petty criminals in his days before he was moved up to CID.

‘Mr Wade, your history makes for some interesting reading.’ Barrett’s brown eyes fixed the interviewee.

‘So I got a past, so what?’ Andrew shrugged.

‘Driving without a licence, possession of class A drugs, theft and assault.’ Barrett read the list of convictions off with disapproval. ‘A bit more than a past, I’d say.’

‘You really are the lowest of the low, aren’t you, Inspector? My dad is dead. Murdered. I’m grieving here, and there you are going on about my mistakes. It’s a disgrace.’

‘Pardon me, but you don’t appear to be the grieving son you’re claiming you are.’ Barrett loosened his tie, letting Andrew know that he wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon.

‘You don’t know the first thing about me,’ Andrew protested.

‘I know rather a lot, actually.’ Barrett tapped the file with his fingers.

‘That doesn’t mean anything.’

‘The law would disagree,’ Palmer interjected.

‘The law is an ass!’ Andrew said with a twinkle in his eye.

‘If my father had been brutally murdered, I’m not sure I’d sit here making jokes,’ Barrett growled.

‘People deal with things in different ways. I’m not the crying type.’

‘But you are the violent type, aren’t you, Mr Wade?’

‘That was then. I’m clean now.’

‘Okay, but please explain why you were arrested in Peterborough on November sixth, carrying a baseball bat and herbal cannabis.’

‘It wasn’t mine.’ Andrew folded his arms across his chest and shrugged.