Wilma Bradley is making her way across the icy car park towards him, placing her feet with purpose. The car park at the back of Queens Gardens Police Station is almost empty. Ragged flurries of snow tumble down from a purplish, fish-scaled sky. The earth is iron hard. There will be accidents aplenty today. The staff who live over the Humber Bridge will be reluctant to make the journey in. The A180 and the M62 will both be gridlocked before seven a.m.

McAvoy ducks back into the vehicle. Unclips his son. He’s not fully asleep; a slight grizzle and the occasional grimace betraying the fact that he’s not given up the fight. He recently declared war on his parents, ensuring that they enjoy neither the opportunity to sleep, or to create a sibling. McAvoy has taken to driving around the city in endless meandering configurations, listening to classical music on the radio while the boy intermittently dozes and screeches in the back. It’s the only break Roisin gets. He’d be on the breast every moment were it up to him. So would the boy.

‘Hello there,’ says McAvoy, straightening up, holding the boy to his chest. He retrieves his little stripy hat from the pocket of his overcoat and slips it on him. Presses his cheek to the boy’s. Gives him his warmth.

‘Oh my!’ says Bradley, stopping a few feet away. She hasn’t pulled a coat on. Is shivering in dark trousers and a thin fleecy pullover. She grins, unable to help herself. ‘Oh he’s gorgeous, McAvoy. Double of you, isn’t he? You can see he’s going to be a bruiser. Does he blush like his dad? Oh … what’s his name?’

‘Fin,’ says McAvoy. ‘I won’t assault your ears with his middle names.’

‘He looks a Fin,’ says Bradley, clearly fighting the urge to tickle his cheek. ‘Not sleeping?’

‘He gives us thirty seconds or so once a fortnight. Can’t ask for more.’

She considers McAvoy. Looks him up and down as if considering placing a bid. ‘You look well. Tired, of course. But well. The scar’s almost gone.’

‘Wasn’t much there to begin with.’

She laughs at that. Shakes her head. ‘I won’t keep you, I know you’ll be wanting to keep him warm. It’s just, when I saw you there, I kind of thought …’

‘Yes.’

She looks a little awkward, as if she’s not sure she’s done the right thing. Rubs her hands together. ‘The items taken from Eva-Jayne’s flat … they’re back from the lab. I wondered whether you could pass them to the family.’

McAvoy takes care not to let his expression change. The beard is proving a comfort, camouflaging the worst of the embarrassed flush that grips his cheeks whenever he feels wrong-footed. He gives himself an extra moment before replying.

Of course she knows, he tells himself. Of course she will have put the pieces together. You married a witness. You went looking for the brothers. You came back from a holiday with a facial wound. You haven’t replied to her emails. Here it comes, Aector. Here it comes …