An hour later he was still there, a half-empty bottle of wine by his side. There were now papers everywhere on the floor in what might once have been some sort of order but was now simply a mess. The enormous sheet of paper on the dining table was heavy with thickly etched lines, names circled again and again, many of them linked to others in irregular triangles and squares, and everything overlaid with bursts of unsteady handwriting that flew out at all angles, like the mind-map of a madman.

Data support had trawled up some interesting stuff on Dave Bannister, the retired local councillor, who had been investigated twice (and absolved twice) by his local party for corruption, and had stood down from politics halfway through his last term of office. Just a few inches away from Bannister’s name on the plan there was now a patch of heavy scrawling around the names of Danny Cullen and his Patriot League associates, so dense that it was difficult to see whether there was any sort of design to it, or if Jackson Pollock had lost his shit with a pencil.

Each time he stopped reading the reports and looked down at the huge sheet of paper, his eyes were drawn to the name of Craig Shaw. He considered giving Jane Shaw a ring, just to see how she was. He wished he had news for her, a lead, a line of enquiry, anything promising he could refer to with honesty, rather than the upbeat bullshit Rita was obliged to churn out for the media. He also wished he had a cigarette.

In fact, Rita was the next best thing to a smoke. He pulled out his phone.

‘Hi, it’s me. Any news?’

He listened to a brief summary of a wasted day. She was tired, but still she managed to sound in command of the facts. Turner was still being interviewed, but it didn’t sound promising.

‘What about Mark Sugden?’ he asked. ‘You checked the CCTV to see if that bike fits? I saw your lot sniffing around there today.’

‘He says the bike’s not his. They’re looking at the footage now.’

‘And Turner’s bike?’

‘Nothing yet. Forensics are still trying to place it at the scene. Ditto Turner. And by the way, what were you doing up at the library?’

‘Digging away. Give me an hour or two. I’ll ring again. Something’s gonna turn up.’

‘Who are you looking at? ’Cos I’ve got nowt here.’

‘Give me an hour.’