‘An obstructive, obdurate, recalcitrant relic, that’s what your Deano is.’

‘Recalcitrant? You’ve done the senior officer’s big words course then?’

The jibe fired in with a hard grin. Knowing the man’s ambition, knowing it was frustrated. And because he was getting angry, despite the need to be cool and considered. Although a shot of angry wouldn’t hurt the act.

Jason’s hackles rising in reply. Biting off his words.

‘When. Did you get. To the pub… Mister Bale?’

Mickey shrugged. Thought for a moment.

‘Just after eight fifteen. Went for a piss. Drank two pints. Had another piss. Drank two more pints. Came back here.’

‘Which way did you go to the Carpenter’s Arms?’

‘The usual way. Down Nelson Road, so I don’t have to look at the man who supplied the pills that killed my little sister. I’ve been doing it every week for months, ever since the funeral. Check the CCTV.’

A shake of the head.

‘The CCTV’s been out of commission for weeks. Every time it gets fixed some little bastards from the estate throw stones at it and smash it up again.’

Mickey laughed.

‘That’s ironic. A drug dealer’s murder lacking evidence because he paid yobs to break the camera that might have recorded his killer.’

‘But you didn’t walk back down Nelson Road, did you?’

He shook his head.

‘Nup. Because, Hercule Crapeau, I could see the tent being put up from the pub doorway. And white tents tend to mean something nasty these days. Plus that alley was always Warren’s territory. So I guessed there was no need to go out of my way. Correctly.’ He yawned ostentatiously. Knowing the stink of beer on his breath would wash over his former colleague. ‘And now, unless you want to know where I was on the night of the fifteenth, I’m for my bed. Or is it down to the station?’

‘No. That’s all. For now, at least.’

He saw his former friend out of the door. Collected the mugs with a wink to the officers waiting outside and locked up. Upstairs Roz was already waiting for him in bed, her face disapproving.

‘He’s got no right.’

He shrugged, climbing out of his jeans.

‘He’s got every right. Someone put a bullet into that bastard Margetson’s head, and I look like a suspect to him.’

‘Plus he hates you.’

‘Plus, to be fair, he does hate me just a bit.’

‘He’s stuck where he is until his thirty comes round. You escaped that shit and found something better.’

He climbed in beside her, snuggling in behind and taking a nipple-centred handful of breast in the way he knew turned her on. Pushing his crotch into her backside for good measure.

‘Much, much better.’

‘You dirty bastard.’