Michael nodded his head and realised that he was now looking at Duffy in a different light. The fact was, Michael had also encountered Bruce Bull before. And he knew that the SO15 DCI was as straight as they came; he was what a copper should be, at least in Michael’s opinion. And if Bull trusted Duffy, then that said something about Duffy.

‘Nice to be well thought of, eh?’ Michael said with a smile, bringing the subject to an end as he gestured towards the thick security door that led to the court’s custody area.

‘Shall we?’

TWENTY-TWO

Ten minutes.

For ten minutes Michael had sat in near silence, in a cramped interview room in the magistrates’ court’s secure custody area. Thanks to the screwed down position of his undersized chair, he was half-crushed against the bare right-hand wall. Some rooms are not designed for comfort. Michael realised that. But this room seemed specifically designed to avoid it.

Seated next to him was Duffy. The chairs were fixed awkwardly close together. But Duffy at least enjoyed a two-foot-wide space between his free shoulder and the room’s white-washed left-hand wall.

Across from them was Nizar Mansour.

It is unusual for a barrister to be present when a solicitor first meets a defendant. In ordinary circumstances Duffy would have met with his client in Stoke Newington Police Station, before Michael was even aware of Mansour’s existence. But the circumstances of this case were anything but ordinary, and so here Michael sat, quietly observing as Will Duffy fought to gain Mansour’s trust.

A fight that was not proving to be easy. Duffy had achieved little more than grunts by way of response.

‘Nizar, I can understand why you’d not want to speak to us. But I promise you, we’re the good guys here. We’re here to keep you safe.’

As he had from the beginning, Mansour gave no reply. He just continued to sit back into his chair, his eyes fixed on Duffy. He seemed to be studying the man.

Duffy continued.

‘But if we’re to do that, son – if we’re gonna keep you safe – then you got to help us to help you. It won’t do anyone any good if you don’t speak to us.’

Mansour remained motionless.

This is no good, Michael thought to himself. I can’t tell if he’s even listening to what Will says. Or, if he is, whether he understands it.

It was at that moment that Mansour’s eyes moved. They drifted downwards and rested on the documents that sat on the table, obscured by Duffy’s large, gnarly hands.

Michael would not let the brief moment of curiosity pass.

‘Those are legal aid forms, Nizar.’

Michael’s voice – softer than Duffy’s, and coloured by a Belfast accent that was less pronounced than the solicitor’s Glaswegian – seemed to surprise Mansour. He looked up, meeting Michael’s eyes for the first time.

‘They’re nothing to worry about,’ Michael explained. ‘They’re nothing to do with the judge or with the court or with the prosecution. All they do is make sure that Mr Duffy and I get paid to represent you. And that’s only if you decide that you want us. If that’s what you decide today, then we can fill these in at the end.’