‘Bollocks.’ Bull looked towards Mansour, then back to the constable. ‘How long?’

‘They’ve just been let through into the car park.’

‘How long does that give me?’

‘Depends how long the sarge can slow them down on the way in. Few minutes at least.’

‘Tell Sergeant Langley to stretch that as much as he can.’ Bull slapped the officer’s upper arm as he spoke, a friendly indication to get to it. ‘And thanks.’

Bull retook his seat, his mind now racing.

He had known that the US Secret Service would find out about Mansour sooner or later. Sooner, he had expected; they seemed to know everything else. And so he had known that he would not get the man to himself for very long.

But what he had not expected was for Mansour to raise so many doubts in his mind. So many questions. Doubts that the Secret Service were unlikely to share.

It left Bull very little time. He had to change tactics.

‘You heard what was said just then, Nizar. The US Secret Service are here. You know what that means?’

Mansour did not answer, but his breathing became faster.

‘It means that we’re about to be joined by highly trained, highly motivated special agents who think you killed a huge number of their fellow citizens.’

The breathing speed increased again.

‘Agents who outrank me, Nizar. From a country that can pretty much do whatever the hell it wants, anywhere in the world. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Mansour said nothing. Instead he took a long, slow breath. After a moment of panic, he seemed to be regaining control. Bull could not understand why.

‘Do you not follow what I’m telling you, Nizar? If you don’t cooperate with me, I can’t protect you from them.’

‘It sounds that you can’t protect me whatever I do.’

Bull opened his mouth to respond, but stopped himself. Mansour had called the situation in one. There really was nothing Bull could do to protect him. Not from the Secret Service.

‘Where are you from, Nizar?’ Bull changed the subject again. With the clock against him, he was scrambling for the connection. ‘Originally?’

No answer.

‘It’s a Syrian name, isn’t it? Nizar Mansour?’

No response at all.

‘So you’re from Syria?’

Nothing. Bull could feel his anxiety increasing. They had no more than minutes.

‘When did you arrive in this country?’

Nothing.

‘Why did you come to the UK? Were you fleeing the war? Or did you come here intending to commit offences of terrorism?’

Again, nothing.

Bull paused. He was trying to give no indication of his growing frustration, but his constant glances at his watch were unmistakable. He knew that, and yet he could not stop himself.

He needed a result, and he needed it fast. And there was only one thing Mansour had reacted to so far.

‘Who was the man we found dead at your home, Nizar?’

Mansour looked up. Only for a moment, but quickly enough and for long enough that Bull saw the pain flit across in his eyes.